


Monster in Me

by excentrykemuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Cousin Incest, Death Eaters, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2019-09-27 14:52:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excentrykemuse/pseuds/excentrykemuse
Summary: Draco Malfoy wants to prove his best friend, Hallie Potter, is a pureblood for her sixteenth birthday--and in the process she falls in love with her mother's mysterious relative, Lord Marvolo Gaunt.A story of a witch who is coming of age as Britain trembles on the brink of falling to the mysterious Dark Lord without a Face, and of her parents who fell in love despite being on two sides of the war between light and dark.





	1. Halcyone and Voldemort - revised

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Christmas was pretty strange this year. So, I decided to sit down and write and came up with an old unfinished one shot that became the first chapter of MONSTER IN ME. Instead of waiting two months while I write 10-20 chapters, edit, re edit, I'm just going to give it to you. Please accept my typos, my word swaps, my awkward word choices ... and know this is a Christmas (Holiday) Present.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco takes Hallie out for her birthday to prove she's a pureblood ... and they discover so much more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED to include her 'half-twin' Harry Potter.

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 31 July, 1996_

She was sitting at the desk, the window looking out into the garden. White peacocks fluttered among the hedges, making her laugh, and she wondered at the whimsical nature of her hosts that they would choose to ornament their garden with such a bird. It was Hallie’s sixteenth birthday and Draco had promised her a surprise, just telling her to put on her prettiest wizarding dress and he would have Lady Malfoy loan her a shawl.

Her honey blonde hair was combed simply to the side, a wide part which covered her lighting bolt scar, before being pulled back to a knot at the base of her skull. She had the pretty little clips with butterflies at the ends of them, pink and green and blue, from Daphne for her birthday which she had ornamented her hair, which was otherwise in sharp relief. 

The dress was simple, a white that fell in jagged layers with pieces of black lace jutting out from the folds, and she had transfigured a pair of slippers into sandals for the occasion. Draco had prattled at her the night before when she painted her nails red and she was lucky she had had enough to purchase some pink kissable lipstick two years earlier for the Yule ball. 

She wouldn’t quite stand out on the Muggle street, but would perhaps get a second look. 

There was a quick rap on the door and she turned to see Draco waiting in a waistcoat and summer robes, a pale purple shawl in his hands along with a small wrapped present. “All set?”

“You said I needed to prove who I was,” she stated, looking over at the desk where she had a small stack of papers. “A copy of my birth certificate from St. Mungo’s, my parents’ marriage certificate as ratified by then Chief Warlock.” The name was a scribble but magic would honor it. “And, then, of course my godfather’s sworn statement.” All these documents had only recently come into her possession as they had been kept in Sirius Black’s safe as her father, James Potter, had been too afraid to keep them in his or her mother’s, for fear of retribution.

Her godfather, Sirius Black, had been murdered just a few months before but when he learned that everyone thought that she was in fact someone else, he had instantly gone to the goblins and verified her baptismal name in his blood as well as fetching the documents.

Carefully, she folded each paper and was putting them in her purse as Draco held out the shawl for her, which she slipped on. 

“At least Cousin Sirius was good for something,” he stated.

“I know with the Takeover well under way,” she told him imperiously, “we will soon have Britain and Sirius was—against that.” It still confused Hallie, especially as he was a Black, and they had unfortunately never gotten to speak about it. “However, he was my godfather and your cousin—” She smirked at the wide-eyed look on his face. 

“The Department of Mysteries was a shambles,” he concluded, as he often had, and he led her out of the room into the Manor proper. “At least it distracted Dumbledore enough to sneak you back into Hogwarts.” His pointed face, although never quite handsome, looked stark with his gray eyes and against the backdrop of his family home.

“Well,” Hallie stated carefully as she took his hand and began to swing their arms back and forth. “With the inestimable Professor Lily Snape not putting up a fight, and Aunt Petunia letting me go wherever I want as long as I don’t bother her, what could he say?”

The two friends paused and looked at each other before laughing.

Lily Snape was perhaps the unhappiest woman either had come across in their five years at Hogwarts. She was undoubtedly beautiful, with her thick swaths of ginger hair and her bright green eyes, soft features and womanly curves, but she always had a sour expression on her face. She was “married” to Professor Severus Snape of all people, the ugliest man in wizerdom, but he was unusually devoted to her. 

“I told Father not to let her anywhere near you this summer,” Draco promised when they got themselves under control and continued on down the hallway, out into the stairwell. “I know Severus is a friend and a supporter—”

“How can he be?” she asked, as many in Slytherin did, “with a Mudblood wife?”

He bit his lip and looked at her.

“Yes, I know. Everyone thinks she’s my mudblood mother. The only advantage of that misconception is that everyone thinks she’s a horrible witch who abandons wizarding children at birth.”

They were now heading down the stairs, Draco turned backward as he hopped down the stairs so he could look at her, and she was skipping every other step. If either Lord or Lady Malfoy were to observe them, the friends would have been reminded about comportment and decorum, but they were just a couple of teenagers out to have fun.

“It’s a wonder Dumbles didn’t order her to take you,” he griped as he whipped around a corner. His pristinely cut platinum blond hair swished a little, the sunlight catching from a window, but Hallie only scoffed.

“As if I would go. With the Muggles I can terrify them into thinking I’ll perform accidental magic. Dudley’s decided to no longer terrorize me but to impress me—”

(“He’s in love with you, the fat whale,” Draco put in.)

“—and everyone thinks I’m so beautiful and such a credit to the family that the Dursleys have to treat me well and get me new clothes.—Lily Potter can have my supposed ‘twin’ Harry and that other child of hers, Clemens.”

They skipped down the final steps into the entryway, which was made almost completely of white marble. Skating across the floor in his shoes, Draco led the way as he crossed the hall to the far side to the floo room. Hallie wasn’t far behind him.

He threw in the powder, shouted out their destination, and the teens hurried into the flames, only to elegantly walk out the other side. 

The room was cramped and small with exposed beams and a wooden floor. To one side was a door that obviously led out to Knockturn Alley and directly in front of them was a raised platform with some sort of cone on it. Hallie looked at it for a second before turning her attention back to Draco, whose fingers had gone around her wrist and he whispered in her ear, “Let me do the talking.”

“Heir Draco,” a little wizard greeted from behind a podium, a large book of what seemed to be reservations and notes in front of him. “You are most welcome at The Wicked Stepmother.” 

Draco neither smiled nor smirked, his face impassive, and he inclined his head. 

“Are you dining with the lady?”

“I am—for her birthday,” he told the little wizard, his voice casual. “As it’s her sixteenth birthday, I thought as a gift I’d put her up for membership. She’s an orphan from the last war but we brought the usual identification—birth certificate,” he began to list but the little wizard—strangely—cleared his throat.

No one interrupted a Malfoy.

A Malfoy always got what he wanted and everyone always paid attention.

Draco’s father, in fact, was Lucius, Lord Malfoy, one of the four lords and, thus, one of the four most important wizards in Britain. Excepting the Dark Lord if the Takeover was successful, no one was more powerful than him and the other three lords.

“May I see?” the little wizard asked kindly. His voice, Hallie would have expected, would have been nasally, but it was deep. It didn’t fit him at all.

Still, she stepped around Draco with a smile and got out her purse which hung around her wrist. “My mother was Sacred Twenty-Eight,” she explained carefully. “I don’t know much about her, I’m afraid—Lady Maia Gaunt.” At first she didn’t notice that the little wizard, who was taking notes with his quill, had completely stilled, so she continued to get out her pieces of parchment as Draco came up behind her. “Father was Monsieur James Potter.” She was still fiddling with her parchments so, at the wizard’s silence, she quickly added, “I have their marriage certificate. I assure you that they were married at the time of my birth.”

The little wizard looked between the friends and licked his lips. “Lady Maia Gaunt,” he repeated. 

“Yes,” she responded. “I don’t know which of the four lords she was related to—” A person was only a ‘lord’ or ‘lady’ if their father or grandfather was one of the four lords “—but my godfather assured me—”

She was aware how silent the cramped room was and she looked up at the little wizard.

He was staring at her with large, gold eyes, as if he had seen a ghost. “I knew your mother, if I may say so, my lady. You look very much like her with your hair and the turn of your face.” Setting down his quill he reached out his hand and she put the three folded pieces of parchment in them.

“It’s all there,” she promised, “sealed by magic.”

“Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt,” he read carefully. “You carry your mother’s name, Lady Mabelle.” His deep voice caressed her name in the way she knew it was meant to be spoken. Names, she had learnt in Slytherin, had power. She was named ‘beloved’ and then for the Pleides. 

Glancing at Draco who nodded encouragingly, she explained, “My godfather Monsieur Sirius Black explained that my parents wanted me to carry the name of the Sacred Twenty-Eight that and,” (she paused) “To this day people still speak of the scandal of my father’s first marriage to the Mudblood Lily Snape. They wanted me to be removed from that, although most people seem to think my name is ‘Hallie Potter’ no matter what I do, and that Lily Snape’s son—Harry Potter—is in fact my twin, when it seems he’s nothing of the sort.”

He nodded, waving his wand carefully over the parchments to most likely check their authenticity, and handed them back. The little wizard made a note in his book. “Happy Birthday, Lady Mabelle.”

Draco squeezed her hand as she put away the documents and led her to the cone opposite the floo. She could hear the little wizard come up behind them and she took in the strange wooden object, knowing how it worked as Draco had come to the Wicked Stepmother with his father the day after his birthday, leaving Hallie to herself as Lady Malfoy couldn’t be bothered with her.

Glancing at the little wizard, she reached out with her holly wand and inserted it in the cone. For a moment, nothing happened, and she held her breath, praying that somehow the documents hadn’t gotten it wrong, that she really as the pureblood daughter of Maia Gaunt and James Potter. She grasped onto Draco’s hand, squeezing it tightly in fear, but his thumb stroked the side of her finger.

With a creek, the cone began to turn counterclockwise and she let out a breath. 

At first the movement was slow, a little wobbly, as if the cone had to think about it, and then it began to spin faster and faster, a little crick where it would pause, and then it would continue. It seemed to last for minutes upon minutes, to the point where Hallie was getting a little dizzy. Then, finally, with one long groan, it stopped.

Immediately, the little wizard hurried forward and went to the side of the cone where parchment as thin as Muggle tickertape was being expelled, and he bent over to read it. “Welcome to The Wicked Stepmother, Lady Mabelle,” he greeted with a smile as he tore off the parchment once it had stopped coming out of the cone. “The silvers. Dark into the blues. You have worthy magic.”

Letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, Hallie smiled at Draco and he lifted their joint hands until it was hovering about two inches beneath his lips and then he lowered it again. “Happy Birthday, Halcyone.—Now I get to show off the pride of Slytherin House.”

He began to lead her back behind the podium, when the maître d’ asked carefully, “May I inform your uncle it is your birthday? I don’t believe he is aware.”

She paused, shocked, and turned to him. “I don’t have an uncle.”

“If you’ll forgive me, Lady Mabelle,” he apologized, bowing to her. “Your mother was raised by her father’s cousin—or ‘uncle’, as she called him. I know he would be anxious to know you are alive and well.”

Releasing Draco’s hand, she moved toward the little wizards. “There are other Gaunts?” she questioned dangerously. “Why am I not?—” She turned and her eyes met Draco’s. “Why am I living with Mrs. Snape’s relatives if there are Gaunts?”

“The Dark Lord will set this right with the Takeover,” he promised dangerously. “But we can fix this now, or as much as it can be fixed.—I wonder if Father knows him.” Nodding his permission to the little wizard, he came back up to Hallie and took her hand. “Come on, don’t you want to open your present in front of everyone?”

“Only you like to show off your gifts,” she laughed as they hurried down the hallway, following pink sparks that would lead them to their table. 

With their rose tea ordered and shortbread, Draco held out the gift with a smile. “Happy sixteenth birthday!” he exclaimed, just loud enough so the tables around them could hear him if they wanted, but not so loud as to be obnoxious or grasping.

“Do I have to guess?” she asked with a smile as she picked up the box wrapped in pink, the color he always insisted on wrapping her gifts in since they were first years. “If you make me guess, we’ll be here through dinner.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco griped, “I learned my lesson third year.—Open it! I want to see your face!”

She smirked at him and carefully began to tear away the paper, always careful of it as she would save ever single piece. She still had the paper from his first Christmas present. There was a small jewelry box, orange, with brown ribbon that she didn’t recognize but was certain was expensive. Smirking again, just to put on a good show, her eyes briefly caught sight of a tall wizard with piercing blue eyes and thick dark hair. Their gazes met for a moment and her breath caught despite herself and, blushing, she went back to the box and opened it to show a beautiful equilateral cross on a silver chain.

“Oh, Draco,” she sighed, her eyes going up to her friend. “I’ve wanted one for ages.”

He genuinely smiled at her. “I know you have, Halcyone.” He got up and picked it up out of the box, letting the four points, fashioned to look like broomsticks, catch the light. “It shines in the night, not enough for a Muggle to wonder about it, but enough or a wizard to notice,” he murmured into her ear.

Smiling, she turned toward him and looked up at her best friend. “Well, I have to put it on,” she decided. “Lucky we ladies always wear our hair up.”

“You didn’t first year,” he griped good-naturedly as he set the pendant down on her sternum and let the chain reach around her neck. 

“For eight days!” she laughed happily as she felt the necklace slide against her skin and settle. 

Her eyes flashed toward the door again where the wizard was standing there, watching her, his robes a complete black, which contrasted with his pale skin and haunting blue eyes. She looked demurely down, knowing she shouldn’t be caught staring, and was glad when Draco came around her again so she could occupy herself with looking at her friend. 

“I tried to measure it so you could hide it under your uniform,” Draco was now explaining, the wizard coming up behind him. “I know how some wizards and witches like to wear theirs all the time, in case they happen to find themselves in the Muggle world, so they can signal others of our kind. Uncle Roman never takes his off.” He rolled his eyes. “He has a collection, but he’s always wearing one.”

“Your uncle is vain,” she told him plainly. When she had first visited the manor two years earlier for the World Cup, he had taken one look at her, stated that she was blonde, asked her if she was a pureblood, and then when she might be of marriageable age just “in case” he felt like finally getting married.

“You’ll enjoy being my aunt,” Draco teased. 

She scoffed, the wizard now close to them, as if he were actually coming to their table, which was peculiar. “I will never be your aunt, Draco. I’ll marry Blaise Zabini instead and then be murdered by his black widow of a mother for some perceived slight.”

At this he laughed, but quieted when a hand came down on his shoulder. The fingers were long and graceful and one wore a large ring with a black stone. It was rather crudely made but it was an interesting piece. “Young Malfoy,” the wizard greeted, his voice smooth and sophisticated, and Draco immediately looked up and stood at the sight of the wizard.

“Lord Marvolo,” he greeted, bowing. “I wasn’t expecting to see your illustrious personage.”

“I understand you have taken my cousin out to celebrate her birthday,” he said instead, partially ignoring him. His blue eyes were now soaking up Hallie, who was sitting in her seat, blushing, trying not to openly stare at the handsome man.

“Cousin?” Draco was looking wildly between them, his eyes flashing in wonder, until a sudden understanding came into his gaze, and he nodded. “Yes. May I present Lady Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt? I’m afraid Dumbledore calls her ‘Hallie Potter’—which is why—” His voice trailed off.

“Which is why,” the wizard agreed, his voice ringing with finality. Without even asking, he swept into Draco’s seat, although another was being levitated for the table. “You must be confused,” he apologized.

“A-a little,” she admitted quietly, now free to look at him. “I didn’t know my mother had any family. I don’t even know what she looked like.”

“A bit like you,” the wizard told her, fondness in his voice. “Not as pretty, but perhaps that is the birthday glow.”

“And you’re her uncle?” she asked, glancing at Draco. “You’re my great-uncle, Lord—”

“Marvolo Gaunt,” he told her simply with a smile, which made his face appear almost angelic. I was named for my grandfather, your grandfather Mordecai’s grandfather.” These names were all new to her, but she simply nodded. “Sebastian said you were living with Mrs. Snape’s relatives,” he asked quietly, leaning forward.

The tables near them leaned in so as to hear. Lord Marvolo’s very appearance had caused a stir, but Halcyone was so involved in her uncle that she frankly wasn’t paying them any attention.

“I’m with Draco this summer,” she answered with a smile. “We’re the best of friends.” Her hand moved up to the cross around her neck, as if for comfort, and she felt the circle that surrounded the four points of the cross.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

Draco sat rigid in his chair, as if afraid to make the slightest movement.

“I’ve been away since, from what I can calculate, you were about a year and a half old. I’m not entirely certain when your father died, but I know he would not have wanted you with his first wife’s Muggle relatives. He was devoted to Maia. I couldn’t keep him away from her, and it seems they got married without me even realizing it.” This was said wryly and his eyes flitted to her, resting on the cross around her neck and then skating up to her pink lips, which she was biting. “You should have been left with friends of mine, friends like the Blacks or the Malfoys, not with Muggles.”

Carefully, Draco reached out for her and let his hand slip into hers. “She’s been safe with us in Slytherin, Lord Marvolo. Prefect,” (she blushed) “hopefully Head Girl in her time if you can beat out that Mudblood.”

She scoffed quietly to herself. “She wishes she could beat me. I’ll win over Dumbledore. He loves Mrs. Snape.” At this she rolled her eyes. “I am supposedly her daughter, after all.”

Lord Marvolo’s face darkened. “That will not stand,” he promised, looking between the friends. “Mabelle—”

“Halcyone,” she interrupted and then blushed. “I just—I’ve always been ‘Hallie’ until Hogwarts, and then in Slytherin I’m ‘Halcyone’.”

“A Pleiades,” he murmured, “like Maia. Like my mother Merope.—I will see the goblins, with your permission, Halcyone, to arrange that you have your mother’s dowry. To arrange transfer of your guardianship to me. I’ll start in with the Ministry tomorrow.”

“I don’t know you,” she stated a little in worry. “Not that you don’t seem kind, Uncle Marvolo.”

“Cousin Marvolo,” He corrected. Lord Marvolo thought for a moment and took her in with Draco. “Friends,” he murmured and then took a deep breath. “I’ll visit Lord Malfoy. Arrange a few dinners or teas or family meetings. Something. Lady Malfoy will know.”

Somehow, Hallie doubted that. Lady Malfoy was the least maternal woman she knew. She wondered, sometimes, what Draco’s childhood was like with an uncaring mother and a doting father. Then there was Roman to consider. Hallie was unable to figure him out.

“Shall I leave you to your tea?” he suggested when it came, a hot steaming pot and three cups with shortbread. He stood, elegant as ever, and looked down at her. Then, surprisingly, he leaned down and kissed her cheeks three times. “Happy Birthday, my dear one,” he whispered. “I may not have known you for long, but already you are dear to me.”

With a final brush of her cheek with his fingers, he turned and left the tearoom.

Draco immediately breathed out. “By the gods. Do you have any idea who that was?”

“Cousin Marvolo,” she responded as she began to pour her tea. “I’ll get him to write out a family tree for me. Maybe I should ask for one for my birthday.”

Not really paying attention to her murmurings, Draco accepted his tea and took a sip. “Cousin Marvolo,” he told her, “seems to be the name of one of the most powerful wizards in the country.”

“He said he was away,” she hummed to herself. “Do you think he’ll really take me away from the Dursleys? Is he strong enough to fight Dumbledore?”

The witch at the next table turned her head slightly, clearly to listen in better, and Draco sent her a nasty look.

“Halcyone, darling, if there’s anyone who can fight Dumbledore, it’s your Cousin Marvolo.” He sighed. “I can’t believe I just called him ‘Cousin Marvolo.’”

Laughing a little, she questioned, “What else would you call him?” 

Draco looked at her plainly over his teacup. “Of course, you wouldn’t know. You grew up an orphan in the Muggle world because of that hack they call a wizard. Halcyone, dearest.” He set down his cup and folded his hands carefully. Draco was silent for several long moments. “Perhaps he should tell you himself.”

She sighed and picked up a shortbread. Hallie could feel her hair pulled to the back of her head and it was getting a little uncomfortable. In fact, she was surprised she wasn’t getting a headache. “Well, you gave me a necklace, tea, and a long lost relative for my birthday. I honestly don’t see how you’re going to top this next year,” she teased.

He grinned at her unrepentantly, the height of pureblood youth and fashion. “I don’t think I’m even going to try.”

**2018/12/25 (2019/01/21)  
**


	2. James and Maia - Revised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James meets the pureblooded Lady Maia Gaunt after his marriage to Lily Evans is dissolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now on tumblr! I'll be posting snippets of chapters, updates, when I'll be releasing new chapters et cetera.
> 
> @excentrykemuse  
> https://excentrykemuse.tumblr.com/
> 
> EDIT: Revised version to include Hallie's 'half-twin' Harry Potter.

_James and Maia, Summer, 1979_

James Potter had a slash through his hand. Whatever way he looked at it, it wasn’t going away any time soon, either. Magic was like that.

Just the summer before, he had stood before witnesses dressed in a homespun robe, taken an athame and cut a pomegranate to pieces and fed his bride the fruit. When she had likewise fed it to him, it had been a bit bitter, but he thought it was just the fruit. Nothing to worry about. It wasn’t magic warning him-- 

Already they had slashed their hands diagonally, the lifelines marred on their palms, and mingled their blood together. The cut would remain fresh and unhealed until their marriage was consummated and, well, their marriage had never been consummated.

Now, he was the laughingstock of wizarding England. He had married a Muggleborn, and then—well, no one was sure what. The truth was too horrible. Sirius had convinced him on that June day to come out to The Wicked Stepmother, a pureblood club that measured dark magic. James had never gone up for membership. The Potters didn’t stand for that kind of thing, especially with the rise in Death Eater activity, but he needed any excuse to forget about the past.

Tea was as good as anything.

Of course, he felt like a right ponce as he put on his shirt sleeves (who heard of a shirt without buttons that just kind of draped and then got stuffed into trousers?) and then a waistcoat he had to borrow from Sirius and was far too big for him. A bit of tucking with magic and it looked better, but he still looked like he didn’t belong even before he hid the ensemble with robes.

Sirius laughed when he saw him.

Well, that just made him feel better. 

Diagon Alley was pretty much deserted and they walked down, two friends drenched in black, as they made their way to the exclusive club. Shop windows were empty, the glass shattered through. Mothers hurried their children along, berating them not to go far. There was no joy left.

Wherever James looked, the world seemed to mirror his soul.

All he could remember was the Muggle hotel he had taken Lily to, suitcases in hand, smiling and giggling like newlyweds as they checked in, drinking champagne and strawberries only to have it go so wrong.

“Does it hurt?”

James looked up. He’d followed Sirius into the club, which was made of dark wooden floorboards and chipped pieces of china. A beautiful witch in pale lilac was sitting next to him, her blonde hair up in a complicated style of curls, her blue eyes shining out of her face. Somehow, she seemed familiar.

“I’m sorry?”

She looked at him worriedly and then over at Sirius, who seemed to be arguing with his cousin. James must have phased out as he was drinking his tea. He did that sometimes now.

“Your hand,” she murmured, touching the side of it gently. “It looks like it hurts, and I imagine magic only makes it worse.”

He smiled self-deprecatingly to himself and just looked down at the ugly slash. “Yes, magic makes it worse. I saw a healer and she assured me that when I was finally married to a ‘worthy witch’”—whatever that meant—“then it would heal as it was supposed to. To be honest, I don’t think I could ever bear to go through any of that again.”

Sadness crossed her face but she forced a smile onto her lips. “Don’t say that, Monsieur James. Love, surely, will find you again.” Her big blue eyes looked at him so imploringly. 

Looking at her, James was certain he’d met her before here. “Are you at Hogwarts?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” she agreed, grabbing onto the topic. “Final year. Head Girl. I was a prefect under you—” She looked at him carefully. “Lady Maia—”

“Gaunt,” he agreed, remembering. “Slytherin House. Don’t you live with your uncle or something?”

She laughed a little. “Not quite. My father’s cousin. Father was rather angry he had a daughter so Uncle Marvolo took me in. Father’s pretty grim. Grandfather’s in Azkaban for killing some Muggles, apparently. Morfin.” She shivered. “Even his name is horrible.”

Looking at her for a moment and wondering why she wasn’t wearing her grandfather’s crime as a badge of honor here in The Wicked Stepmother, he asked instead, “Marvolo, Morfin, Maia—”

“Yes,” she agreed. “There is a theme. Is there one in your family?”

“No,” he disagreed. “My parents both have pretty colorful names.” It didn’t get much worse than ‘Fleamont’ and ‘Euphemia’. “I think they thought they’d get as boring and as English as possible with mine.”

She was looking at him with some strange expression that he couldn’t read, but then she smiled at him. “How lovely. Uncle Marvolo named me. Father apparently hadn’t named me and Mother had died in childbirth, so I was just a squalling baby with no name when Uncle Marvolo took me in.”

“I suppose you’ll give your own children names beginning with the letter ‘M’,” he suggested, now finding the conversation relaxing.

“I suppose I will,” she decided. “Mabel,” Maia suggested, “for a girl. Marcellin for a boy.” Biting her lip, she was clearly thinking to herself, but then she turned to him again with her large blue eyes. She was almost pretty, he decided, with that excited expression on her face. “What do you think?”

“Mabel doesn’t quite fit,” he murmured, thinking that, yes, perhaps she was almost pretty. Lily had been ravishing, but this was quieter, softer, more soothing. It didn’t startle the eye. James could look at Maia all teatime and feel content, perhaps. Once upon a time. Almost. If only. 

“Well, it’s not a Latin name,” she murmured to herself. “The French ‘Mabelle’ … ‘ma belle’…One can always hope that she will be beautiful… that she will be belle.” Again, a smile lit her face, and James’s breath almost caught. 

Then he realized that he couldn’t hear the quiet arguing of his friend with his cousin anymore. Looking over, he saw Sirius looking at the two of them speculatively and Bellatrix Lestrange smirking as she sipped her tea. 

“Dear, dear,” Madam Lestrange murmured at the two of them. “What am I going to tell your uncle, Lady Maia? You strongarm me into coming over?” (“I didn’t--!”) “And now you’re speaking about the names of your future children.”

Maia sat there and sighed. “What do you want?”

James looked over at her and saw that there was some clear female manipulation and blackmail going on here, and he only partially knew the story.

“You won’t come on a single one of our raids—” Madam Lestrange sing-songed, a wicked smile on her face.

Maia glared at her. “Uncle Marvolo says that I don’t have to.—No.” She glanced over at Madam Lestrange and her hands that were curled around her teacup. “How did you take off your vined ring?” she asked in surprise.

James glanced over at Sirius’s cousin and saw that on her right middle finger was the definite imprint of where a ring that stretched from the base of her finger to the tip of her nail used to lay. “That’s impossible! You can’t take those off!”

Madam Lestrange picked up her bare hand and examined it with a gleeful smile. “You can if you have enough galleons and you feel the need” (James didn’t believe that for a second) “to make a change in the kind of fashion statement you’re making.”

Sirius scoffed. “So you’re free to cheat on Rodolphus for however long you’re not wearing a ring. Typical. Who are you after?”

At this, a grim look crossed Maia’s face. “My uncle,” she stated carefully. “He wears a vined ring, Bella. We Gaunts tend to marry one another—” (“He’d never marry you—” Madam Lestrange cooed) “Of course, I’m like a daughter to him, and neither of us would ever consider it, but if there were another female Gaunt or if I had been raised away, well, then.”

Purebloods and their traditions were often disturbing to James, and these Gaunts were incestuous it would appear. It reminded him of Sirius’s parents. They were second cousins. And didn’t his Uncle Cygnus have his first child at the age of thirteen—when he was still at Hogwarts?

“When was the last incestuous marriage—” Madam Lestrange was now asking, a morbid curiosity in her eye. 

“Uncle Marvolo’s father is my grandfather. Word has it,” now she was inspecting her nails, “that his mother and father were brother and sister. His mother went on to marry someone else, but he kept the name ‘Gaunt’ and then grandfather married some Nott who was my grandmother. Then, of course, their parents were uncle and niece.—Why do you think Uncle has a black card? His magic is that strong because it is that pure, Bella, darling. However, I’ll let you into his bedchamber—once!—if it means you won’t tell him about today—or any other day,” she quickly added.

Madam looked at her once and then, after a long pause, nodded.

Sirius grimaced.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” James asked Maia carefully.

“Uncle Marvolo eats witches like Bella for breakfast,” she explained. “Besides, he believes in true love. Used to tell me stories about princes and princesses, and how I could marry anyone I’d like as long as he was a pureblood.”

“How democratic of him,” James slurred into his tea.

“Don’t be like that,” she begged. “You know that’s how many Sacred Twenty-Eight feel. If Uncle Marvolo were like any other Gaunt, I’d be planning my wedding instead of drinking tea with you.” Maia shrugged. “Besides, you’re here, aren’t you, and not with your little wife?”

James watched as she calmly took another sip of her tea.

“At least she’s not inbred,” he shot back angrily.

“At least I can wear a vined ring,” she argued, lifting up her left hand, “so you know before you take me to your wedding bed that no other wizard has ever touched me.”

As if slapped, James looked at the pretty witch sitting beside him. “Is that what people are saying?”

She, however, was ignoring him. Politely sitting beside him, she was nonetheless paying attention to Sirius and Madam Lestrange who were sniping at each other over someone named Andromeda.

“Gaunt,” he murmured quietly from beside her, and her blue eyes flicked toward him. However, there was no other sign that she heard. “Maia,” he tried.

Clearly shocked, she turned to him, a blush across her cheeks, making her seem even prettier. “Yes, Monsieur James?”

“I, Mademoiselle Maia,” he began again, using her correct title—

\--or not. 

“Lady Maia,” she told him plainly. “I’m Lady Maia Gaunt.” She brushed a loose curl away from her forehead. 

“Who?”

She smirked as if to herself, but didn’t look away from him. “Aren’t you full of questions? I tell you about the Gaunts and our peculiar form of blood purity, and you’re disgusted. Now you want to know more.”

“Your uncle’s parents are brother and sister.”

“And who are your parents?” she demanded suddenly. “Famous potioneers, yes, but it’s rumored that they had to conceive you with a potion and without magic.” Yes, that was a hateful rumor that had followed him since his childhood. His parents were well into their 120s and 140s when he was conceived that everyone assumed it must be a potion. “And you know what they say,” she continued pleasantly as if she were just another airbrain Hufflepuff speaking about the weather. “If you weren’t conceived without magic, you weren’t born with magic—which means you must have gotten it from somewhere else.”

“Don’t spread such vile rumors,” he begged tiredly. He knew what would come next. It would be like a Muggleborn who stole magic from a wizard child. “I was conceived with magic just like you were—no matter how closely related your relatives are.”

“I’m just saying,” she spat, “conjure a mirror.—I came over to be pleasant and ask about your hand—”

“For which you had to bribe your keeper—”

“Because you are socially unacceptable,” she whispered desperately. “I can’t have friends outside of Slytherin who aren’t purebloods. Uncle Marvolo prefers it if I associate with dark wizards and Death Eaters. Forgive me for taking a chance after so many years of watching you—” She fell quiet at her admission, and looked down at her teacup. 

James looked at her and the slump of her thin shoulders. “I never knew, Lady Maia.”

“You never noticed anyone outside of Evans,” she agreed quietly. “No, Monsieur James, the mistake is mine. We are too different.” Setting down her teacup, she caught Madam Lestrange’s eye, and the two ladies began to stand, but James hurriedly did as well.

Looking at her beautiful, sad face, he decided to take a chance on his dead heart. Although he didn’t like to make generalities, he’d already married a grasping Muggleborn. Perhaps a blood purist, while the opposite extreme, would give him whiplash, but didn’t he owe himself to try?

“Come for tea,” he suggested quickly, looking at Sirius imploringly. “We can have a picnic.”

She looked at him strangely. “I can’t be alone with you, Monsieur James.”

He glanced at his friend, begging for help with his eyes. “We’ll have a party,” Sirius suggested. “We’ll invite some of our friends from Gryffindor, and you can invite some of your friends from Slytherin. All nice people who won’t fight,” he qualified. “Jamesie bought this cottage about a year ago and no one has really seen the inside of it, so we can make it a housewarming party.” He made a signal over his cousin’s head and James nodded his thanks.

Madam Lestrange put her hands on Maia’s shoulder and stated, quite simply, “Lord Marvolo would never allow—”

“Purebloods only,” James added in. That would exclude Moony and Wormtail, unfortunately, but that couldn’t be helped. “We could invite your brother you don’t really like from Slytherin,” he suggested to Sirius. “He’s still at Hogwarts.”

“Yes, Seventh-year Prefect,” he agreed. 

“Three people each side,” James suggested. “Me and Sirius and,” he thought a moment. “Er—Bones the year below us. She was a good sort. Then maybe your godsister, Lux Kingsley.” He didn’t mention that she was Sirius’s secret wife, because really that was entirely private. “She’s a year older, but she’s a pureblood, the niece of Heir Lucius Malfoy, so you can’t object, Lady Maia.”

“Fine,” Maia agreed with a smile. “Heir Regulus for me, and Monsieur Barty Crouch, Jr. from Ravenclaw.” 

James looked at Sirius. Wasn’t his father some bigwig at the Ministry that was capturing Death Eaters? Well, that could only be good, then.

“And Selwyn. Mademoiselle Apricot Selwyn.”

James bowed to the ladies. “I’ll make out the invitations for this Sunday afternoon. Licorne Lemonade with a little extra something, but not enough for our parents to notice for those of us still at Hogwarts.”

Maia walked up to him and looked into his hazel eyes, through his glasses. A moment later, and she plucked them off his face and put them up to her eyes. “These are fake,” she realized. Looking up at him, she asked, “Whyever do you wear them?”

“They annoyed my wife when I needed them—and after I corrected my vision, I just—kept on annoying her.”

She inspected them again and then gazed up at his face. Handing them back, she suggested, “Perhaps the pureblood wizard who occasionally frequents The Wicked Stepmother and hosts picnics so he can be alone with the granddaughter of incestuous wizards might think of not wearing them. He looks dashing, after all.” Nodding again to Madam Lestrange, the duo made to leave, Sirius and James remaining behind.

“Jamesie,” Sirius murmured quietly. “You do realize who her uncle is—whose parents were brother and sister.” He shivered.

“Lord Marvolo Gaunt.”

Sirius sat and shook his head, his long hair falling around his face. “No, it’s—that’s the assumed name of—” He leaned forward so that his forehead was nearly touching James’s. “He’s a Gaunt, but no one is certain what his actual name is.”

“Well, what is his name then?” he wondered, not really caring as he’d never met the wizard, and wasn’t going to anytime soon as far as he could tell.

“The Dark Lord,” Sirius whispered so quietly that at first James couldn’t hear him. Sighing, Sirius repeated himself.

James started. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. I always knew Gaunt was somehow related—I just didn’t realize he was her uncle—by the old gods—That girl must be watched like a hawk. It’s amazing she got Bella to agree to keep you a secret. She must really fancy you.”

“I never really noticed her at Hogwarts,” he admitted.

“Of course not. She wasn’t Evans,” Sirius agreed. “But are you sure you want to do this?”

His lips setting in a line, he thought for a long moment, of that nearly pretty girl who was so contrarian and insistent upon the right way things were done and so unapologetic. She knew what she wanted and she went out and got it. Maia wasn’t afraid of her own shadow like Lily had been. No, she had somehow seen James and engineered a meeting with him—and had gotten a picnic out of it, if nothing else—

“No,” he decided, determined. “I don’t care who her uncle is. He told her stories of true love growing up apparently. I can respect that she has a peculiar home life I can’t begin to understand—but until I have to, I’m going to throw a picnic for a pretty girl who isn’t going to scream the wrong name on her wedding night, as far as I can tell.”

Sirius started and looked up at James. “Is that what happened?”

“She just lay there, wouldn’t do anything, touch me, let me kiss her, and when I finally was able to make her sing—she was pretending I was Snape of all people.” He glanced down at his hand and the ugly slash there. “At least I know she’s got one of these.”

“I’m not sure magic will let her remarry,” Sirius breathed, inspecting his hand. “Not after that.”

“Well, Snivellus is welcome to her,” he sneered. “I’d rather take a pureblood maiden who’s decided on me absolutely than a Mudblood who is imagining someone as disgusting as him.” Shivering at the thought of it, he turned to his friend and smiled. “Lady Maia Gaunt. Wait, is she a ‘lady’ because he’s the ‘Dark Lord’?”

He was given a nervous look. That answered that then. 

**2018/12/25  
**


	3. Halcyone and Voldemort - Revised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Marvolo pays a visit to Professor and Mrs. Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Revised to include Hallie's 'half-twin' Harry Potter.

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 01 and 04 August 1996_

Lily Rachelle Snape was a bitter woman. Her life had been one full of disappointment after disappointment. She had convinced herself, at the age of fifteen, quite effectively, that she deserved better than Severus Snape. He was ugly. He was hard. He had a hooked nose. 

No, she had magic. Unlike Petunia. 

She was beautiful. Unlike Petunia. 

She deserved the world. Unlike Petunia with her idiot of a husband and a child. Bitch.

Her life had been rather—peculiar. She had been the IT girl, the golden girl, despite being a Muggleborn, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry. Everyone had wanted her, everyone had adored her. Severus, dearest Severus, had always been lurking in the shadows, ready for a chat at a single flick of her wrist, even when his Death Eater friends wanted him. But as the years went on with her charmed life, her acceptance into the SlugClub, her position as Prefect, a darkness settled over England. The Takeover was coming. 

Lily learned, with the rest of Hogwarts, to covertly watch a Slytherin student who always had her honey blonde hair brushed back away from her face, her eyes a bright blue, and the letters she received. Her face rarely betrayed anything, but occasionally, a smile would escape her lips at a particular reference that she would show her friend, or she would snatch at the letter a little more forcefully when the tell tale owl appeared. 

This girl was Sacred Twenty-Eight, which Lily knew meant something, and she began to covet the girl her handmade robes that didn’t come from Madam Malkins. The neckties stitched by House Elf hands. The cufflinks with the Family Crest instead of the Hogwarts one, a shining gold despite everyone else’s being a dull copy of the metal.

Ideally, a handsome Slytherin would have noticed Lily and not cared about her blood status. He would give her perfumes and send her candies she would pretend to eat, but wouldn’t really because she was worried about how the pleats sat on her skirt. 

The best she could do, however, was James Haraldus Potter. Not Sacred Twenty-Eight. But Pureblood. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to care when she suddenly noticed him after years of screeching at him unbecomingly. Now, he was thrilled.

He sent her perfumes. He sent her candies. He walked her to Hogsmeade and still Severus watched from the shadows despite the … misunderstanding, which had pushed them apart.

Sometimes she wondered, in the dead of night, if Severus hadn’t called her a “Mudblood” that fateful day by the lake, if things would have been different. However, she convinced herself that nothing would have changed. She would have worn that homespun robe and slashed her hand before eating pomegranate. Lily still would have put on the little blue suit and gone to the hotel for the beginning of her honeymoon. She still wouldn’t have been dreaming of her husband as he made love to her unresponsive body. Severus’s name might have been on her lips, disrupting the magic that broke the marriage bond completely.

The slash on her hand never healed. She had gone to a healer several months after she had separated from James Potter, but he said that she could never marry again. Seeking a second opinion, she was told the same.

Lily wasn’t even technically married to Severus, now over a decade later. She lived as Lily Snape and he gave her all her heart desired, and she knew that she could do no better. She was damaged good and had the slash on her hand to prove it.

She had Harry, though—who carried the name ‘Potter’ because everyone thought she had still been married to James Potter at the time. Then there was Clemens, who was given the name ‘Snape’ as a curtesy.

Lily might still be beautiful, but no wizard would take her—Only Severus, a slave to the cause of the Takeover with a hooked nose, a half-blood, who never could have even made her “Madam Snape” even if it was within his power.

Lily might still be intelligent, but even with the mysterious fall of the Dark Lord, people feared giving Muggleborns a chance. Only Dumbledore let her come back to Hogwarts, where she watched witches, younger than her, with their whole lives ahead of them, prance about with their beaus and she knew she had missed her chance.

But at least she had ensured she had a child with Harry, although that had taken a dark potion. Then there had been little Clemens, who was an ugly copy of his father. Finally, at the death of James Potter, a little girl had been given to her by Dumbledore despite her “marriage” to Severus, and she was told that the little girl with James’s eyes was her responsibility. She was the closest thing he had to a wife, after all, and although no marriage certificate had been found other than her broken one, no birth certificate, the magics indicated that she was a lawful Potter. This child, “Hallie” apparently, was her responsibility. So, she shafted her off on her sister Petunia and paid a stipend, although her own children needed it.

Of course, Lily couldn’t access the Potter vaults. She wasn’t a Potter. She wasn’t a pureblood, so it came out of her wages. 

She only visited Hallie when she went to see her sister Petunia and her family. Harry was a bit enamored with her, which was a problem, but she tried to counteract. She did. Secretly, she hoped the little changeling was a Squib.

The girl had, of course, come to Hogwarts, and that particular child of James Potter was sorted into Slytherin. It was almost poetic justice, and Lily watched as she flourished. Severus took to the girl despite being the child of his enemy, as he viewed himself as the girl’s stepfather, no matter what Lily said. The thing called him “Uncle Severus” even. She became close to the Malfoy boy, and Lily saw that Hallie was going to have everything she never did. She would be beautiful, a leader in the wizarding world, a pureblood, and the wife of one of the Four Lords.

Yes, Lily Snape was a bitter woman, but she was never more bitter than when the Lord Marvolo Gaunt came to call.

Severus had said he was back. He’d been called away at the end of the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament over a year before, and had been busy making potions for the horrible excuse of a warlord since. At first, Lily tried to disrupt the potions, until Severus had uncharacteristically slammed her against a wall and explained to her harshly that it was the Dark Lord who kept her safe from persecution, unlike other Mudbloods from their time at Hogwarts.

“Lily Evans,” the sophisticated voice intoned and she turned from the one window in the room, her dull ginger hair flying behind her.

In front of her stood a man with dark brown hair, an auburn sheen to it, startling blue eyes, and a handsome face. He was tall and in simple black robes. Where he stood, the colors of the room seemed to bend around him. His head was tilted to the side, his hands, wrapped up in the folds of his robe, so that he seemed to be a spirit that had just suddenly appeared in the middle of her library.

“Lord Gaunt,” she murmured, looking up at him with her shocking green eyes. “It is you, isn’t it?”

He tilted his head to the side, his only answer, and Lily looked down at her hands. “Severus isn’t here.” There was a slight quake in her voice, despite herself, and tried to recenter herself. 

Clemens was with a friend out in Ottery-St.-Catchpole—and Harry was out in London at Headquarters. He and Hallie had joint-inherited it from Sirius Black and it seemed the little bitch didn’t want it, at least not yet.

Lily’s wand was tucked into her boot, and if she could bend down quickly enough—

Something of what she was thinking must have shown in her face because Lord Marvolo reached out a pale hand, his arm a column of white skin, and flicked his finger up. “Ah, ah, ah, Miss Evans. I wouldn’t try that.”

Although he used no magic against her, she stilled and then shrank into herself. “How may we help you, Lord Gaunt?”

Pondering her a moment, he then moved across the room, his arm still outstretched in a silent command, and he sat down in an armchair in front of the empty fire grate. After a moment, she followed him and, when he made no objection, she sat across from him. She’d never been so uncomfortable in her life, and that included lying naked, on a bed, on her wedding night, and trying to imagine another man.

“Tell me of your husband, Miss Evans,” he commanded, as he folded his hands in front of him. “After your marriage.”

She swallowed painfully. “James Potter?”

He nodded.

“He—he was always with his best friend, Sirius Black.” She searched her mind back and found nothing. “I don’t know. I remember Bones wrote about a series of picnics and parties about a year after we were married. There was a group of them.” She shrugged. “I remember thinking it was strange—and then it calmed down.”

“And the baby,” he added in. “You must know something about the baby.”

“I know nothing about the baby,” she scoffed. “She was given to me after Potter’s death. I performed spell after spell on her and only learned that she was a pureblood and her name. But still Dumbledore wouldn’t take her back. The Ministry would do nothing without a birth certificate, and so I shafted the little heathen off to my sister.”

Lily wasn’t even looking at Marvolo Gaunt, but when she glanced back, his smooth face seemed almost pinched. “What does the Professor think?”

Of course, he would view Snape as a professor and not her. She was a Muggleborn and she taught Muggle Studies. Worthless, in the Lord Marvolo’s mind. She wondered, for the hundredth time, why she hadn’t been sacrificed in a ritual already… unless that was in her future.

“Severus,” she stated, “enjoys playing the beneficent stepfather, although I’ve forbidden him from playing favorites or ‘welcoming her to the family.’” Lily rolled her eyes. The idea was ridiculous. 

Marvolo Gaunt settled. “I am pleased,” he stated, and immediately she relaxed, “at my follower’s view of the child. What I dislike is how you’ve treated her—placing her with Muggles, a pureblood. You yourself know what it is like to be a witch among Muggles, Miss Evans. I would think you should know better.”

There was a creak in the doorway and Lily looked up desperately from the Lord Marvolo’s angry eyes to see Severus standing there. His hair was as lank as always no matter what Lily did to try and change that, his nose as hooked as she remembered from childhood, his skin as sallow. She knew the face should be dear to her, but it was always just a disappointment.

“Severus,” Lord Marvolo Gaunt intoned and immediately her lover came over and bowed on one knee.

The sight sickened her.

“Halcyone Potter,” he demanded, not having Severus even stand. “You’ve taken pains with the girl.”

“She’s bright,” Severus concluded, “in not only Potions. I didn’t even need to think who I wanted to be my Prefect. She’s popular, fair, has the correct politics.”

“I met her on her birthday,” Lord Marvolo mused as he signaled that Severus should rise, “with Heir Draco. An elegant girl—like her mother—” (Lily looked at him in shock) “—Lady Maia.”

Severus was now sitting on the arm of Lily’s chair and he nearly fell off as he choked. “Lady Maia, my lord? Lady Maia Gaunt?”

“The same,” he agreed. “I remember Lady Maia’s last year at Hogwarts she had a particularly ardent suitor—one James Potter. I’m still uncertain to this day how they met unless it was when they were students.” His eyes shifted from the couple to look out the window. “He actually told me he would kill me if I kept him from Lady Maia, which was laughable although he was an Auror.”

Lily wasn’t entirely certain what she was hearing. Who was Lady Maia? However, she could well imagine Potter telling the infamous Lord Marvolo Gaunt that he would kill him for some brash reason such as a girl. He was like that. His passions ran hot and long and scorched everything in their paths. 

It was Severus, however, who spoke. “I doubt if Lady Maia would have appreciated if anyone had killed her beloved uncle.”

Blinking, Lily was surprised to hear that the man in front of her had a niece. Then she remembered the girl with the clufflinks and the robes, and thought that perhaps this was Lady Maia. “Girl,” she whispered, her throat dry. “Slytherin. Exquisite robes. She always got those letters that everyone watched for. Blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Yes,” Lord Marvolo agreed carefully. “That would have been Lady Maia, my cousin’s only child, and the mother, it turns out, of Halcyone Potter. Your husband didn’t need to kill me to spirit the most precious thing away in my life. I thought she had a flat in London with friends, but she always was a clever Slytherin.” He shrugged, as if it no longer mattered, which Lily supposed it didn’t. “But they have given me something precious in return. They have given me Halcyone, someone which you would have rot away with Muggles, Miss Evans.”

She gulped nervously.

“I looked after the girl,” Severus put in quickly. “I went on the first of every month and put my own wards on that house—different wards than Dumbledore. I put in compulsions to love, to cherish. She went from screaming in her crib unattended the first month to having toys and enough milk to drink. Potter—” (Lord Marvolo leveled a look at Severus, who bowed his head) “—Lady Halcyone may not truly be treasured like a wizard child, but she is valued.”

If she had thought about it, and really all thought processes had been suspended, Lily would have realized that she was furious with Severus for interfering in the life of her husband’s spawn. However, Lord Marvolo Gaunt looked mollified, which could only be a good thing. 

Breathing out in relief, she quickly glanced down at her hands. 

Without any warning, Lord Marvolo stood. “She is ‘Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt.’ I’ve taken care of the Ministry and the necessary letters have been written. However, as you probably know, she prefers ‘Halcyone’ and will be known as ‘Halcyone Gaunt.’ I want her afforded every luxury is Slytherin as Lady Maia was in your time. She’s my kinswoman and is now under my protection and will be until the day she dies. Understood?” His blue eyes flashed to the color of ice and Severus quickly nodded and then sank to his knees again. 

The man that wielded so much power in dark circles that even he frightened her stared at Lily but she only stood in respect for a guest, willing herself to be strong.

He lifted his hand, the robes falling away from his arm, and let the palm face flat downward. Immediately, she felt a pressure against her shoulder and she was forced to sink to her knee. 

“There will be consequences, Miss Evans,” he told her as soon as she had reluctantly bowed her head in submission, figuring she would do it before he made her. She was will and truly trapped. “Lady Halcyone clearly had a bright future in front of her, and I’m going to give her a brighter one, brighter than the one her mother ever would have found.”

With that, he swept from the room, the door left yawning behind him. She didn’t even hear him floo out but after several minutes she took a deep breath.

“Hallie is his niece?” Her voice was skeptical. She honestly couldn’t imagine it.

Standing, Severus helped her up. “Lily,” he told her carefully. “Lady Halcyone is not only his cousin—but I would warrant there’s a plot to crown her the future Dark Lady.”

A sense of dread washed over Lily as he set a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him in horror and shook her head. “No,” she begged. “She’s not mine, and I hate her for being Potter’s daughter, but he can’t—she’s just a girl—”

“It’s already decided,” he apologized, wrapping her in his arms. 

“But he—and she—her mother is his—”

Resting his chin atop her head, he held her close. “They say the Dark Lord’s mother ran off with a Muggle.” At the non sequitur, she stilled, and listened. “They also say that Lord Marvolo’s father was a Gaunt who took his sister to his bed, who slipped away in the night and ran off with a Muggle to preserve her reputation.”

“What happened to the Muggle?” she asked, her voice dead.

“Killed, most likely, by the Gaunt who was his father,” Severus intoned darkly. “It is the way of the Gaunts. Gaunts rarely marry anyone but other Gaunts, and when they do, it’s other Sacred Twenty-Eight. The idea that Lady Maia married someone outside the Sacred Twenty-Eight is astonishing—” He began to rock Lily back and forth and she didn’t even realize she was crying. 

… … … … …

The dress was darker than a black it was so blue and Hallie let the thin material run through her fingers. Hallie carefully put it on, loved how it just brushed her knees although here in the wizarding world she had to wear tights for the sake of magic’s modesty. The fabric fell just past her shoulders and there was an outer dress, like a waistcoat, that she put on over the dress, a dusty pink that she tied like a corset over her chest and the let fall down to her knees. 

Her honey blonde hair fell past her waist and she brushed it out before braiding it and twirling it into another severe bun. Putting on her lipstick and the scent that Pansy gave her for her birthday, she decided she was ready.

She hopped out of her room to find Draco leaning against the opposite wall. “Out to dinner?”

“Cousin Marvolo thought he’d show me off somewhere,” she told him, remembering the letter she had received at breakfast along with the box that held the dress. “Isn’t it lovely?”

“Stunning,” Draco agreed as he took her in. “Uncle Roman won’t know what to do with himself when he gets back from Cornwall.”

“And what’s in Cornwall?” she joked as she took his arm and he led her down the stairs. “Blonde hair?”

“Raven hair,” he breathed into her ear. “Don’t tell Father.”

At this she laughed and they came into the front hall where both his parents were waiting with Cousin Marvolo who was dressed in black robes. Glancing at Draco for permission (of a sort), she then walked up to her cousin and kissed his cheeks three times before pulling away and smiling at him. Honestly, she had no idea what to say.

“Darling, you look beautiful,” he complimented as he looked her over. “I have a present for you.”

“Another one?” she asked, clearly a little confused. 

He looked at her with his startling blue eyes and snapped his fingers and, as if by some unspoken magical signal, an orange cat came racing out from the shadows.

Smiling, Hallie immediately bent down and picked up the bundle of fur and looked at his little face before noticing his paw was lame.

“Muggles were torturing him,” Cousin Marvolo was explaining carefully as he came up to her and began to pet the fur. “As far as I could tell, they were breaking his paws and not letting them set and then repeating the process.”

“How horrible!” she exclaimed, kissing the cat. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

Draco came up and, carefully, she transferred the cat. 

Scratching his ears one more time, she promised, “I’ll think of a name for you later.”

Taking her hand, Cousin Marvolo led her to the floo and she barely had time to breathe before she was twirling in his arms on the dance floor. She was uncertain where she was, only that she could feel his hand around her waist, and her other hand was in his. 

She laughed when he twirled her into two lines, which moved into the more traditional wizard dances, and finally realized that everyone was speaking various other languages around them.

“Where are we?” she whispered when he finally led her off of the dance floor toward a small table for two with a small sign on it with their name written in elegant strokes.

He smiled to himself simply and held out her chair. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, but I thought I would take you somewhere your friends haven’t probably gone for your birthday.—Somewhere private. Somewhere where you could enjoy yourself.”

“Somewhere out of England, you mean,” she decided for him, looking around at all the different fashions. 

They didn’t even order. Small plates of one or two bites were brought to them, and Hallie tried each and every one with sips of champagne in between. Occasionally, the food would stop and the music would start, only for them to go back onto the dancefloor. At one point, a wizard with floppy hair and a rather sweet face, a good ten or so years older than Hallie, approached. He bowed to them and asked, politely, for Hallie’s hand in the dance.

“I heard you’re making Muggle films, Hugh,” Cousin Marvolo stated casually. “Whatever possessed you to do such a thing?”

“Well,” he stated, glancing at Hallie. “It’s easier than breaking into their vaults as they’re all—computerized—now.”

At this, Hallie laughed into her champagne and just couldn’t stop giggling. “You’re a thief, Monsieur Hugh?”

“Oh, decidedly,” he teased. “No, in Slytherin I realized I had a talent for lying. And I enjoy lying to Muggles. This way I get paid for it.” Smiling self-deprecatingly, he looked between them. “If I may have the honor of the next dance, Lord Marvolo, with your worthy companion?”

“Halcyone,” Cousin Marvolo asked, his voice laced with some unknown emotion. “I’ll let you decide.”

“This is a family dinner,” she began to demur, before grinning, “but one dance can’t hurt. As I have your permission, Cousin Marvolo.”

He waved his hand in agreement, and she gave Monsieur Hugh a smile. “Come and claim me when the dancing starts.”

When he was gone, Cousin Marvolo looked at her. “You are a born politician, Halcyone.”

“I will give every pureblood a dance who asks for one,” she told him plainly, “unless he has personally insulted me. I try to make it seem like a favor, but I know I came from nothing. I need all the friends I can get.” 

And with a smile, it was clear that they perfectly understood each other.

… … … … …

That night a large book lay opened to a page. A quill rested beside it. The hand of Lord Marvolo picked up the quill carefully, dipping it in ink, and wrote down Halcyone’s full name. With a snap of his fingers, a photograph of her standing in the dance, a small smile on her face, appeared, and he placed it in the crease of the book.

Next he wrote out a complicated family tree.

He already knew that the child would be ideal. With her childhood upbringing among Muggles and her dark politics, she was ideally suited as the beloved of the Dark Lord. However, it was for others to decide, others to feel the heat of passion, others to fall in love.

Marvolo Gaunt was merely relaying the information. No, the next time the Dark Lord awoke from his deep sleep, he would see the innocent and beautiful face of Halcyone—he would need to know of her anyway. She would be wandering the Manor soon, she would have to know how closely tied she was to him by blood. Those haunted eyes would spark his interest. Lord Marvolo knew it as certainly as he drew breath.

With one last flourish he put down the quill and looked at the two pages he had filled out. 

No, it was not time for him to sleep yet, for the Dark Lord to rise. He could, however, feel it coming upon him. A few hours perhaps. Yes, he had a few hours to prepare.  
 **  
2018/12/26 (2019/01/21)  
**


	4. Halcyone and Voldemort - Revised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hallie moves into Riddle House and finds a confusing note from the Dark Lord. Meanwhile, she is invited to an engagement party by none other than Cedric Diggory ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Revised to include Hallie's 'half-twin' Harry Potter.

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 15 August, 1996_

It was named Riddle Manor and she had no idea why. After packing her trunk and saying goodbye to the Malfoys, she and her cat Faustus had flooed over to a sprawling manor that was on top of the hill with gardens all around it.

“That’s little Hangleton,” Cousin Marvolo explained as they stood in in the garden in twilight. “Muggles, obviously.”

The lights twinkled and she squinted to try to make out the size of the hamlet, but honestly couldn’t. “Can I go visit in my Muggle clothes?” she asked, taking a few steps forward to a stone where she sat down prettily, holding her licorne lemonade in her hand. “I mean, shouldn’t they know that another Gaunt has come to rule over the populace?”

“You’ll be ‘Miss Mabelle’,” he warned. “Everyone thinks I’m my own son, given that I haven’t aged since I was last here in the seventies.”

“Shall we be brother and sister?” she asked with a large smile on his face. “I mean, we look nothing alike, but half-siblings, perhaps?” She had a half-brother, Harry. Harry and Hallie. She supposed she could have another. Mabelle and Marvolo.

Alarm briefly crossed his face, but then he came forward and touched her hair, which was up in a severe twist. “Oh, no, darling. Cousins, certainly. You’ve been sent to live with me since your mother died.”

She bit her lip and looked back out at the hamlet, at all the lights. “How did Mother die?” she finally asked. “It’s just—no one’s said.”

His hand had been petting her hair, but then suddenly stilled. When she looked up at him, a solemn expression had come over his face, and he murmured, “Perhaps for another day, Halcyone. It’s just—there’s such a mystery around your parents, one I only partially comprehend, and I don’t want to get ahead of myself by telling you half understood truths that we both might misunderstand.” His thumb ran over the rim of her ear, making her shiver. “You’re too precious to not fully understand just how your parents loved you and why they acted as they did.”

“You think they loved me?” she whispered, looking down into her tall glass.

“I’m certain of it,” he agreed, kneeling down so that he could look up into her hazel eyes in the half-light. “I did not know your father, I admit, but I do not doubt his intentions toward you—despite the mystery of Harry Potter—if he is even a Potter. And I knew Maia. She craved a child. There is no doubt that she adored you. That she hid you from me meant only that she was attempting to keep you safe from the Takeover.”

Glancing into his eyes, Hallie supplied, “Because you’re important somehow.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, reaching up and pressing his forehead against hers. “I have a vital role to play and I am only sorry that I was unable to protect Maia as well as I should. But I shall do better, Halcyone, you have my word. You have no reason to hide anything or anyone from me. You are safe and separate from this conflict.”

“But I support you,” she told him hurriedly. “I long for a time when we’re completely separate from people like Aunt Petunia and Dudley. I never understood why Mrs. Snape couldn’t have felt compassion in her soul and given me to wizards, why Professor Snape didn’t just take me in—I know he thought about it. I overheard him tell Lord Malfoy when he came to get permission to take me to The World Cup.”

His eyebrows rising in surprise, Cousin Marvolo breathed in for a moment. “We shall make it a reality, dear girl. Mrs. Snape’s days are numbered, although she has some—nominal protection because of her relationship with your Head of House.” He smirked at her. “And I shall speak to your professor. He did do a great deal for you, although I know you are unaware, and shall be rewarded, and he will be made to see that there was more he could have done.”

Carefully, she stood and after a moment, he stood with her, towering above her. His hand had fallen from her hair, but he brushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her ear, and looked down at her. 

“You are safe.”

She nodded and then took another sip of her lemonade. “Draco, Pansy and I are going for my vined ring tomorrow.”

“Pansy?” he inquired.

“Mademoiselle Pansy Parkinson,” she told him quickly. “Draco’s girlfriend.” At his impassive look, she continued: “There are four of us, really, in the group. Pansy’s father has interests in banking, but they’re too new so Lady Malfoy won’t let her socialize with Draco over the summers. Then there’s Signor Blaise Zabini—but he’s foreign.” Her eyes glittered. “In the end, Professor Snape had to vouch for my heritage despite all the nasty rumors, and I was allowed to become Draco’s companion as he so hates Monsieur Theodore Nott who is also in our year and is the only one considered ‘acceptable’ by Lady Malfoy.”

“And the four of you are the best of friends,” Cousin Marvolo checked.

“Decidedly,” she agreed. “Draco’s decided I’m the sister he never had, which makes Pansy jealous—” She bit her lip and laughed a little, “and Blaise likes to make bets with no one in particular as to how his stepfathers are going to die.”

Cousin Marvolo motioned for her to continue.

“His mother is the Black Widow.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “You shan’t be marrying him then. I want you nowhere near her.” He picked up her free hand and lifted it to just beneath his chin, letting it hover, and then releasing it. “You’re a little young for that, though, if I may be so bold.”

She tossed her head a little, her hazel eyes sparkling, and she asked, point blank, “And who do we Gaunts marry if we’re not supposed to marry Potters? I heard a rumor.”

“About my mother and father,” he suggested, stepping away from her carefully so she would perhaps not feel crowded. “Morfin and Merope Gaunt.—Morfin, coincidentally, was your great-grandfather.”

“So you are my uncle!” she declared.

He leaned toward her and whispered, “If you believe the rumors,” and then moved away again. “As far as I’m concerned, I am your cousin and your guide to pureblood wizerdom. I will use my influence to keep you safe and in the best possible style.”

At this she laughed. “You don’t even know me!”

“But I will,” he decided. “I know you dote over that cat but you don’t baby him as you might.”

“He needs to learn to walk on that paw,” she stated decidedly. “If he doesn’t, he’ll have even a worse limp, he won’t be able to jump, and he’ll need assistance. I want Faustus to be self-sufficient.” 

He shook his head. Yes, she realized. She had given her cat a Muggle name, but is strangely worked. The cat was a Faustus. Hopefully, he wouldn’t sell its soul to the devil. That would be bad. Very bad.

“I will say one thing,” Cousin Marvolo murmured as he took her hand and led her further into the garden, “as far as I can tell you are not quite like your mother. She was secretly sweet on James Potter since she was about a third year and he was a prefect. She thought he looked dashing with his badge. At least you don’t have a penchant for Draco Malfoy.”

“No,” she answered, letting her fingers slip from his and then touching the pendant around her neck. “Brother and sister. We’re both blonde.”

“Malfoys have gotten stranger ideas,” he remarked.

“Pansy has gotten stranger notions,” she confessed, moving toward him and whispering as if there were others to hear. “You won’t tell anyone, but I don’t think he’ll marry her. She’s not blonde.” Then, to make a point, she rolled her eyes.

A small smile curled his lips when he changed the subject. “If you do go into the village, Muggle baiting is strictly prohibited. We have to live here, Halcyone.” His blue eyes looked at her. “I mean it.”

She rolled her eyes again, showing her youth. “I don’t Muggle bait, Cousin Marvolo.”

Taking a deep breath, he admitted, “The Riddle family lived here. The local squires. Morfin Gaunt may have baited Tom Riddle, Sr. on numerous occasions when he caught him sniffing around his sister Merope—and he eventually murdered them. The murder was never solved in the Muggle world.”

She took a deep breath. “You’re going to have to write out a family tree for me, Cousin Marvolo.”

“Merope was my mother,” Cousin Marvolo stated. “You have her hair. The color of it, anyway, even though she is only an aunt several times over. No, Tom was sweet on her. Everything was left to me as her child as it seemed he couldn’t quite bring himself to move on from the idea of her. Muggles are good for something with their sentimentality.” The last bit was sneered. 

“But he had a son.” She wasn’t looking at him, instead gazing out into the darkening garden.

“Why did you say that?”

“Sr.,” she responded, turning to him now. “You said ‘Tom Riddle, Sr.’ That means there was a son somewhere.”

He paused and seemed to consider. “The manor is in the name of Tom Riddle, Jr. Muggles, as I said. Still, we’re the Gaunts—as we should be—in the village. And our name will be feared soon with the Takeover. I promised Maia that—and I make you the same promise.”

“I don’t want to be feared,” she admitted. “I would rather be loved.”

She moved away from him, down the hill, always looking out at the lights of Little Hangleton. What a strange name for a town, she thought to herself. Somewhere she found a stone bench and she sat on it, just looking out on this small kingdom that was now hers. 

Hallie wasn’t even aware she had fallen asleep several days later while reading in the den until she woke up with her shoes off and in a large bedroom suite, the bedroom with flowers handpainted on the walls, dark, wild, something almost magical, she would say.

A letter at breakfast surprised her. 

She was rather pleased to note that she took it with Cousin Marvolo. He often had a great deal of correspondence and would read it, sorting it into piles, while she looked at her own small pile.

Halfway through August, she received a rather peculiar one. It was from Cedric Diggory and he wanted to meet up in Diagon Alley. She barely knew the Hogwarts Champion from the Triwizard Tournament. There was a bit of nonsense at the time with the final task when Viktor Krum had turned the Cruciatus Curse on him and then one of the outside regulators was discovered to have been cutting through hedges to help Fleur Delacour get to the Cup.

Her half-brother Harry had then managed to get to the cup first after running toward it with a broken leg and declared Lord Voldemort back. It had caused an absolute ruckus. She couldn’t believe it. The two had fought about it that summer and had nearly come to blows in Aunt Petunia’s living room until Professor Snape had separated them.

“May I go into Diagon Alley?” she asked. “I’ll be careful.” It had become rather bleak and she usually only went with friends and stayed at the pureblood hangouts.

Cousin Marvolo looked up briefly and then back at his letter. “Of course, darling. You’re meeting a pureblood, or are you fetching something?”

“An old schoolmate,” she promised. “Don’t know what he wants—and Diggory is a pureblood. There was a great deal of talk about it in Slytherin House when he was Champion.” Checking the letter again, she looked through it for any hint. “No idea what he wants. I don’t even think we’ve spoken to each other than as prefects.”

“Pity he didn’t win,” Cousin Marvolo commented. “I put money on him.”

At this she looked up. “You were in the country? I thought you’d been away.”

“I was,” he agreed, “but I took an interest, naturally. At least it wasn’t France. I can’t stand Creature blood.”

She hummed. Hallie was rather fond of Professor Flitwick although she would never admit it in Slytherin. It would be social suicide. 

Hallie glanced down at her left hand, to the elaborate rose gold and diamond vined ring that climbed up her finger. It still felt strange when she tried to write and she was practicing for half an hour every morning, but she would be out that afternoon and would have to choose what to wear since he wanted to see her at Flourish and Blotts, for some unfathomable reason.

In the end she wore a turtleneck made out of silk with a tie, all in black, fitted with a pleated skirt and tights. The blacks were all subtly different to emphasize each separate piece in her ensemble and to show that she wasn’t an automaton. Her hair was put back with black barrettes so that it was all then folded under itself to give the illusion that her hair was cut closely to her head. 

Cousin Marvolo looked over her once, presented her with black pearls for her ears, and then let her go. Strangely, in them was a short note that read, “To Lady Mabelle, your devoted servant, LV.” She didn’t ask her cousin about it, thinking that if he wanted her to know, he would have mentioned something.

At Florean Fortescue’s she saw her half-brother with Granger and the Weasel, but she ignored them. Unlike Draco, she never started arguments. Harry thought she was staying with Draco. Harry hated Draco. He’d probably confront her about it. If he found out the truth—well, who knew what would happen. Apart from him, she only spoke to Granger as they were both Prefects. Weasel was beneath her notice. She wondered what they were doing in Diagon Alley given the recent Death Eater activity.

“Potter,” Diggory greeted her as soon as she entered and she looked up to see him in, strangely, pureblood black. That pleased her a little. 

She was startled at just how tall he was and remembered how all the girls giggled over how good-looking he was at the Yule Ball back during her fourth year. They certainly weren’t lying, with his chiseled features and gray eyes.

“Actually,” she greeted, offering her hand, which he shook. “My Cousin just got into the country, and I’m finally being recognized as a Gaunt, as my birth certificate proclaims.”

He looked surprised and indicated she should follow him in. “Gaunt? You’re Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

“I’m afraid I am,” she agreed, laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Not that you have to worry at all. You’re no longer at Hogwarts and there’s not even the possibility we’ll have rounds together.” Her hazel eyes looked up at him and she saw a pensive look on his face. 

“I’m confused, I’ll admit.—” He turned and showed that he had saved the two seats in the history section for them and she sat down. “Now you’re going to tell me Snape is not your stepfather.”

She leaned forward and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but Snape was never my stepfather. I’m not related to Mrs. Snape in any way.”

At this, his eyebrows rose and he just looked at her for a moment. “You might not want to come then.”

“Come?” she asked him

“Bill Weasley got engaged to Fleur Delacour, and we Champions kept in touch.” (Frankly, she wasn’t surprised.) “And a few of us were throwing a party, and I was hoping you’d be my date.”

This certainly startled Hallie. First, she didn’t know Diggory that well so she didn’t know why he wanted her to come—and she didn’t know the Weasleys or Delacour. “What does this have to do with Mrs. Snape?”

“Er—it’s her social crowd.”

That frankly didn’t explain much. 

“I thought, even though you were in Slytherin,” he pushed on quickly, “perhaps you wouldn’t mind being around the Snapes’ friends and, by extension, the other Houses. Your brother will be there—and don’t you get along with him? And I do want you to be my date. Potter—” (She leveled a look at him) “—Sorry, Gaunt.” He smiled at her charmingly, and she’d give him that: Diggory was charming. “As soon as you were made Prefect, I remember thinking I had wished you had been a year older for the Yule Ball.”

“Aren’t you still dating Chang?” she checked.

“No,” he answered simply, looking at her with those gray eyes.

To be honest, she didn’t think it would fly farther than a Comet 360. Cousin Marvolo didn’t seem as strict as Lord Malfoy with his “Death Eater” rule, but if Mrs. Snape was involved… “This is an engagement party,” she doublechecked. “Purebloods, half-bloods, Muggleborns… Anyone and everyone.” She closed her eyes and thought. “I’m Lady Mabelle Gaunt. Is that going to be a problem?—I still need to check with Cousin Marvolo, and I doubt he’ll say ‘yes’ unless I go on about international relations.” 

“Lady Mabelle Gaunt,” Diggory practically stuttered.

“All Gaunts are given names beginning with an ‘M’,” she told him plainly. “I’m Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt. Halcyone to my friends—and I haven’t convinced my cousin you’re my friend yet.”

He carefully reached out and took her hand, his thumb running down her vined ring. A simple, unembellished one in bronze was on his own right hand. “Would you like me to talk to him?”

She bit her lip and thought. Cousin Marvolo never said she couldn’t bring her friends to the Manor. His only rule was no Muggle baiting in Little Hangleton. Her head whirring, she finally admitted, “I’m going stir crazy. Cousin Marvolo means well, but everyone’s scared to go out and I don’t know what he even does half the time. And my friends talk about the same things over and over again.” Pansy had just been going on about wedding dresses the day before last when she’d flooed over. Again. Hallie was becoming an expert. “I’ll sneak you in, stay where I leave you in case there are people about—” (like that strange man who looked like an executioner) “—and then I’ll come get you. Deal?”

A smile had been growing on his face. “I don’t think you even fancy me. Half of Hogwarts fancies me.”

“Well maybe you can work on that,” she decided after a moment when she realized she was looking into his eyes and wishing they were a more interesting color. She took his hand and pulled him up. “You don’t want anything today, do you?”

“I thought Florean Fortescue’s—” He suggested carefully.

She looked at him. Hard. “My half-brother’s there. With Granger and Weasley. I know we’re going to fight the next time we speak, and I’m putting it off.”

“They’ll be there—” he warned. “As I said, Potter was a Champion and won—”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed. “And he touched the cup and was whisked to a graveyard where the Dark Lord stole his blood and rose from his cauldron.”

Diggory paused and looked down at her. “There was evidence just last month—”

“That he’s back,” she agreed. “With the face of a snake. I doubt any pureblood worth his magic would follow someone who clearly had Creature Blood. So, he’s a pretender in the photograph and the Dark Lord is not back or the Dark Lord hired someone to take his place in the photograph.—I don’t much care, if I’m honest.” She took a deep breath. This is what everyone had really been talking about and she wanted a break. “Whether or not I believe Longbottom is irrelevant. I wasn’t there. Neither were you. Neither of us saw. Now, would you like to speak to Cousin Marvolo?”

His face softened as he looked at her, his features no less chiseled. “I’d like to speak to your cousin.”

They went out of the store and walked down the deserted summer street. “He’s ‘Lord Marvolo’, just so you know. Cousin Marvolo is very particular in the pureblood niceties. He’ll expect you to refer to me as ‘Lady Halcyone.’ He’ll refuse you just for form.” In fact, he’d probably find a glove and slap Diggory with it before dropping it at his feet to suggest that they duel. She could just see that.

When they passed Florean Fortescue’s, the Trio were still there, to her despair. At this point, Diggory had taken her arm and threaded it through his elbow. 

There was a flurry of activity when they floo’ed into the Manor. She looked about and conjured up a blindfold and placed it over his eyes. His fingers came up to touch the fabric, but she placed her hands on his arm. “Trust me,” she begged as she grasped him to her and turned on her toe.

Only she and Cousin Marvolo could Apparate within the Manor, and she wasn’t supposed to know how—but she and Draco had taught themselves on the sly. Lord Roman might have given them their introductory lesson. At least he was good for something other than flirting.

When they appeared in her suite, she caught him but they fell in a heap on the carpet. Faustus was lounging on the bed. At first they were silent until he pushed the blind off of his eyes and looked into her hazel ones and smiled.

A laugh escaped her. Then he was laughing and they were lying on their backs, just giggling at the absurdity of the situation.

A few moments later, there was a shift in the magic outside of her door, and she sat up as Cousin Marvolo entered, clearly worried. “Halcyone—I thought you were going to be out!”

“I was out,” she told him carefully, glancing at Diggory. “Er—we wanted to ask you something, so we came back. You never told me you’d have a—” She swallowed, thinking of the few people she caught sight of “—political meeting. I knew you were political, I just didn’t know you’d be political here.”

Cousin Marvolo cast a stern eye on Diggory and then came in, shutting the door behind him. “There will be many ministers and politicians from not only Britain but Europe coming through here, Halcyone. I’m sorry. Your mother, Maia, grew up with it. I sometimes forget you don’t know what she did. I only told you about the rule about the Muggle village because it was new since your mother died. She often enjoyed her pursuits there with her friends.”

Hallie swallowed. She had no idea her mother enjoyed Muggle baiting. Her mother tortured other humans, but then again she knew Draco and Blaise did. She wouldn’t be surprised if Pansy did, or at least didn’t mind. They were all blood purists.

“Of course,” she murmured. “I won’t bring anyone back again.” Sighing heavily, she turned to Diggory. “Monsieur Cedric, Lord Marvolo Gaunt,” she introduced. “May we ask you a question since you’re here and then I’ll take him back to—wherever he wants to go.”

Not looking at all pleased, he nonetheless indicated that Diggory should speak. “My friend,” Diggory began before he cleared his throat, “Mademoiselle Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons Champion, just got engaged to Monsieur William Weasley.” 

“Weasley,” Cousin Marvolo checked before glancing between the two students.

“Yes,” Diggory put in quickly. “He’s a neighbor of mine, or rather his family is. The Weasleys are putting on a bash. Krum is coming in from Bulgaria. It’s on Saturday, after lunch. It will go through dinner and then us four champions—and our dates—thought we’d go to the local pub until closing. I’d get Lady Halcyone back here safely, Lord Marvolo,” he promised carefully. 

Cousin Marvolo looked unhappy. “Your half-brother then.—The great murder. Supposedly your father’s connection to him got him killed.”

Diggory clearly didn’t know what to say to this. He glanced at Hallie and asked, “I thought you said you were now a Gaunt?”

“James Potter was my father. Gaunt witches pass on their names to their children for the sake of the purity of the house,” she explained carefully. Grimacing at the thought, she looked down.

Nodding, Diggory then admitted: “Professor and Mrs. Snape have been invited, according to Fred Weasley.”

“This is an Order party then,” Cousin Marvolo suddenly stated.

Grey eyes blinked and looked directly at Cousin Marvolo. “No one outside of the Order is supposed to know the name.”

“Death Eaters know the name of the Order of the Phoenix,” Cousin Marvolo replied simply. He looked between the two of them. “Halcyone, your father was a member of the Order, which fought the Dark Lord, whom your mother avidly supported.—I did everything to oppose Maia’s attachment to James Potter, and in the end I made it stronger. So, I give my permission as I will not make the same mistake twice. I will speak with people I know in the Order to ensure your safety among those who are not friends of the House of Gaunt.”

“This is not Romeo and Juliet,” she argued, looking between them. “I’m so sick of Pansy and wedding dresses. I’d like to talk to Fleur Delacour about wedding dresses, instead. She’s bound to have something new and fresh to say on the subject.”

A smile quirked the side of Cousin Marvolo’s face. “Well, then. If it’s a case of wedding dresses, I certainly shan’t get in the way. You have my permission, ma belle. Don’t drink too much. I’m sure it’s more glamourous in stories than in reality.” He turned with a swirl of his black robes and left the room.

She and Diggory sat on the floor and he looked at her. “Did your Cousin just say he was a Death Eater?”

Thinking, she admitted: “I don’t think he’s a Death Eater. That would be too common.—Now, you wanted ice cream.” She put the blindfold on him to lead him out into the garden so she could bring him into Little Hangleton.  
 **  
2018/12/26 (2019/01/21)  
**


	5. James and Maia - Revised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Revised to include Hallie's 'half-twin' Harry Potter.

_James and Maia, Summer, 1979_

Everywhere Maia looked she could see Muggles and she wondered if she had the correct Apparition coordinates. She was in a little town square, a church off to one side, a monument to the end of the Second World War in the center. It was utterly pleasant and completely common, and she had no idea why she was there, especially dressed in pale pink robes for summer.

A moment later she heard a pop somewhere off to the right and Heir Regulus Black appeared, similarly dressed in summer robes. She sighed in relief and offered him a smile.

“It’s somewhere around here,” she told him, casting her eyes around again. “Though to be honest, there doesn’t seem to be enough grass for there to be a picnic.”

Regulus was handsome, not as handsome as his brother, with black curling hair that fell to his shoulders. His gray eyes looked out of his face, darting about, and he took her hand and raised it to just under his plump lips, before releasing it again. “Lady Maia. Thank you so much for the invitation.”

She moved up to him and warned him, “I did mention that your brother is going to be here.”

“’Interhouse cooperation’ I think was mentioned,” he murmured. “I look forward to it.” His voice was a bit droll and sarcastic, but his gray eyes lit in amusement.

Another pop and then there was a rush of blue robes and pale blonde hair was rushing toward Regulus, who caught the colorful swirl. “Lux!” he greeted. “It’s been an age.”

“Just because I’m Sirius’s godsister,” she stated in a terribly lyrical voice, pulling away, “doesn’t mean I’m not fond of both of the Black brothers.” Lady Lux Kingsley, whom Maia only knew on sight, turned to her and offered her hand. “I believe I address the Lady Maia.”

She lifted the hand up in greeting. “Lady Lux. A pleasure. I think I’m your hostess this afternoon even though I’ve never been to this cottage we’re going to and had nothing to do with the actual preparation.”

Looking surprised, Regulus leaned in toward the two of them and begged, “Do tell.”

“Your brother brought Monsieur James Potter to The Wicked Stepmother, and as there’s no longer a Mudblood claiming his time—”

Laughing, Lux took her arm. “You’re staking a claim, I see. However did your uncle let you come?”

“I mentioned all the Slytherins who were going to be in attendance,” she told her effortlessly. “I neglected to mention anyone else or the location.”

“Positively Slytherin,” she purred as Barty Crouch, Jr. appeared and air kissed her cheeks before greeting the other two. With her coloring she could almost be a sister to Maia, both blondes, both possessing nearly blue eyes (to be honest, Lux Kingsley’s were more purple), both tall with a pureblood grace. 

The little band of wizards with their colorful robes began to draw attention and soon someone was coming from the opposite direction. Regulus was the first to notice, his face becoming tight, but he murmured into the chatting group, “Something wicked this way comes.”

Sirius Black was charming in his deep lilac robes, a color that would look ridiculous on most wizards, but somehow offset his masculinity. He came up to them and curtly greeted his brother first before touching cheeks with his godsister. 

“Are we all here?” he asked, taking out a list and counting the assembled crowd. “No. Missing someone.” He glanced over his list. “No, wait. Sabrina owled saying she might not make it and to start without her if she wasn’t here by quarter past.” He checked his watch. “That’s why I’m a little late, I was giving her time.—And she’s missed her own deadline. All right.” Setting away the paper where he had been looking for the names, he glanced around at the assembled guests. “Politics do not exist during the following three hours, ladies and wizards.”

Barty Crouch, Jr. cleared his throat and raised his eyebrow. “Surely polite discourse—”

“Discuss my cousin Narcissa’s wedding dress,” Sirius suggested dryly. “It was in Witch Weekly just this past week.”

Briefly, Maia wondered how Sirius Black would know what was in a publication for the fairer sex, but when she caught him winking at Lux Kingsley, she decided it was probably some godsibling secret she couldn’t possibly understand. Although there were three witches present, he offered his arms to Lux and to Maia, Apricot Selwyn (who had been the last to arrive) accepting the arm of Regulus Black. 

The merry band walked down past the graveyard and down a country lane toward a row of cottages.

“How idyllic,” Lux proclaimed to Sirius. “I’m going to have to steal your best friend if he lives here.”

“I think he’s stolen,” Sirius teased her right back as they went to the third one down the row and the door opened up for them. 

James was waiting in the same blue robes that he had worn the other day to The Wicked Stepmother, but Maia didn’t care. Daringly, she ran a hand from his shoulder down his chest to straighten the fabric, and smiled at him winningly, before he led them all to the back garden. There was a large blanket out and several plates of different sandwiches that were all labeled and then jugs of lemonade and beer. It was all terribly simple, something a bachelor would put together, hardly elegant, but Maia could certainly appreciate it.

He looked at her anxiously and she smiled at him winningly as she sat down beside him on the blanket.

This had been done for her, and she certainly loved that it had been prepared with her in mind.

As she was sipping at her second glass of beer, Lily Evans unfortunately came up in conversation. “Yes,” Barty was saying as he was eyeing a finger sandwich, clearly deciding whether or not to eat it. “Severus has been desperate to marry the—creature—since she started talking to him again, but magic won’t let them.”

“By the old gods,” Apricot murmured, who was a Slytherin a year above Maia. “I—” She glanced at James. “Why?”

“It can’t be the scar,” Barty stated. “Severus researched it in depth before the Rite of the Pomegranate. He just had to make a slash across the palm to make an ‘x’. Then part or all of it would heal. No one was really certain.”

Maia looked worriedly at James and, daringly, reached over and touched his arm.

Fortunately, he didn’t shrug her off. Instead, he reached over with his scarred palm and placed it over her hand. Then, taking a breath, he entered the conversation: “He got it wrong.”

Barty was now eating the sandwich and he quickly put it down to look over at James. “Sorry?”

“The uninjured party completes the ‘x’ and can marry again, according to the healer I saw. Lily Evans is not the uninjured party. She’s the one who did wrong in the bonding and offended magic. I don’t know what the laws of magic will do to her or if she can appease magic once it has been insulted.”

“Severus said—”

“What?” James asked dangerously. “What could she possibly have to say to defend herself?—She said the wrong name at a particularly and magically potent time. She’s at fault.” At that, he picked up an unopened jug of beer and went back into the house.

Immediately, Maia got up to follow him, as did Sirius Black, but she motioned that he should sit back down. “Enjoy your lunch,” she told them. “And, really, she’s a Muggleborn. Whose word are we going to believe when it comes down to it?” Then, with that, she picked up the hem of her robes and went into the house.

“Monsieur James?” she called and she heard something toward the kitchen. 

She found him sitting on the counter, drinking from the jug, and she grimaced at the sight. “Never drink alone,” she warned and she took the jug, clearly surprising him, and took a long drink from it. Fortunately, she didn’t spill any of it on herself. 

Then she picked herself up and hoisted herself up next to him. “Wrong name.” It was a clumsy opening, but the only one she could think of that didn’t prevaricate.

He grunted and took another sip of beer.

“Did he at least look like you?” she questioned hopefully.

“No,” he answered. “Not in the least.” James sighed and then turned to her. “I love how you don’t look like her. You’re nothing like her. It can be horrifying with your beliefs on blood purity, but it’s a refreshing change.”

Maia hadn’t been expecting the non sequitur but she would accept it. She smiled at him and took the jug from his hand, sipping from it again. “I want you to like me for me. I don’t want you to like me because I remind you of her in any way. I’m my own person, James.”

“You haven’t called me a ‘toe rag’ once.”

At this, she laughed, remembering the incident from back in her third year. She’d known Severus Snape by sight, so she had been curious when he’d been flung into the air. The ‘Marauders’, as they were called, were completely unknown to her, as was the fiery Lily Evans. “You were not at your best that day,” she admitted. “Handsome, but not at your best.”

He laughed, at least, at her honesty. “You think I’m handsome?” As he spoke, he reached up and ruffled his hair to make it appear more windswept. 

“Even without your glasses,” she admitted, “though why you have to look like you’ve just been playing Quidditch is anyone’s guess, but I respect you as an athlete.” Maia grimaced. “I’m not remotely athletic, but I’m sure you guessed that as I’m not on the Slytherin House team.”

At this, he looked into her blue eyes and, before she could stop him, he leaned forward and kissed her.

She had always wondered why James Potter didn’t wear a vined ring. He was a pureblood, it was his right. Perhaps it was so he could kiss witches unawares. At first she was just aware of the press of wet lips against hers and how it seemed nothing like what the Mudbloods always gossiped about. Then there was a searing pain in her hand, as if the middle bone that led from her wrist up through her middle finger were breaking, and she dropped the jug of beer in shock and screamed.

James looked at her in shock, but she was just staring at her hand and the bone that was sticking out of the skin. It was grotesquely beautiful, and it just—it was too much—Her finger wilted down, unable to hold itself up, as the bone stuck up at an angle, and James took hold of her wrist to steady her hand. “What happened?”

“The ring,” she gasped, tears coming into her eyes. 

The sound of running met her ears and all of a sudden people were crowding around her, cooing, exclaiming. People kept on asking what happened, and James just said, “The ring?” as if he didn’t completely understand. 

Someone helped her off of the counter and she was carried to the floo and into the mess of Saint Mungo’s.

James never left her side, coming into the room with her as her bone was carefully extracted from her hand and she was laid down on a bed and given skelegrow. 

She knew when Uncle Marvolo arrived because he was a silent presence, sucking all the sound around him in a denseness of silence. He came up to her and kissed her temple before he looked at her boneless hand, the ring clinging to the skin so that it was a puff of air protruding from her hand. 

“Can this be fixed, Healer?” he asked in a deadly calm. “I won’t have—whatever has been done to her—scar her for life.”

James looked over at her and reached over to touch her shoulder, but one glare from Uncle Marvolo and he was retreating to his corner. 

The healer admitted quietly, “There will always be a scar, like a star, on the back of her hand where the bone punctured through the skin. It can’t be helped. It’s the magic of the ring. It was punishing her.” He looked between James and Uncle Marvolo. “She’s lucky it wasn’t worse. From what we can tell, she didn’t instigate whatever happened.”

At this Maia was quietly crying and was turned away from her uncle, curled in on herself. James moved carefully forward and crooked his pinky in hers, which caused a small smile to form on her lips. His hair was disheveled and his eyes bloodshot from crying, but he hadn’t deserted her.

“Who are you?” Uncle Marvolo suddenly demanded. “I don’t recognize you from Slytherin House, boy.”

Looking up from her, James swallowed. “I’m James Potter, sir. A bunch of us were having a picnic—”

Testily, Uncle Marvolo admitted: “I am aware of the picnic. All good names, all good families. How was a disgraced wizard such as yourself who could not even consummate your marriage to a filthy Mudblood included in the guest list?”

Annoyance passed over James’s face, but he did not lash out or respond in kind. 

“What are you doing here with Lady Maia and why are you holding her hand? Are you responsible for this injury?” Uncle Marvolo demanded. His blue eyes flashed an even lighter blue in the dimmed light, almost white to show the raw magic that was simmering beneath his skin in his anger.

After a moment of holding Uncle Marvolo’s gaze, Maia watching anxiously, James looked away. “I am. And I’m sorry for it. I didn’t realize—”

“You didn’t realize,” Uncle Marvolo countered. “You didn’t realize that a lady from an upstanding house who was wearing a vined ring—or are you too busy rolling around in the mud—”

“Uncle Marvolo!” Maia cried out in shock. “Please! James is important.”

“James is not important. Only people I tell you are important are, in fact, important.”

“But you said any pureblood I want—when I was a little girl—I didn’t have to be like the other Gaunts, I could have any pureblood I wanted—” Tears were forming in her eyes. She curled into herself again, just cradling her injured hand, and there was murmuring until she knew she was alone with Uncle Marvolo.

There was, in fact, a scar, in the shape of a star, on the back of Maia’s hand to remind her where the bone had pierced her skin. It was horrifyingly beautiful, and sometimes she would trace it and remember what her first kiss had been like—and if she would ever kiss James Potter again (which was only possible in marriage).

Uncle Marvolo didn’t leave her side, stroking her hair and bringing her cocoa despite the warmth.

“You wouldn’t know,” he asked carefully one night as she was staring at the back of her hand, “how Bellatrix got into my private rooms.”

Forcing herself to relax when her instincts begged her to tense, Maia shook her head. “Was she looking for me?”

“No,” he responded. “She wasn’t.” Reaching over, he ran a hand down her arm. “Does it hurt much, my darling?”

She grit her teeth at the pain. “It feels like the bone isn’t meant to be there.”

He hummed and nodded, stroking her arm once before withdrawing. Soon she fell asleep and she knew she was alone.

… … … … …

There was no letter from James, but Maia supposed that was to be expected. Every morning Uncle Marvolo applied a thin layer of clear gel to her hand and wrapped it in silk. Whenever she would think of James, which Maia had to admit was often, her ring would pulse on her finger, but she could not stop it. She had always thought of James, for years and years, even as she watched him with the filthy Mudblood who would one day be his thwarted bride. She had wished he were teasing her instead, that he would come over to the Slytherin table and steal her toast, that he would ask her to Hogsmeade… but he had never noticed her before that day in The White Witch, when she had convinced Bellatrix to speak to her cousin, Sirius. 

Maia had made him see her—and for the short time that he had, it had been wonderful.

If the raids against the Aurors became more vicious, she didn’t pay attention. She was drifting in pain until one day when she was threading a needle to repair a doll she’d had since she was a child, Maia decided enough was enough. Getting up, she walked out into the gardens and was filled with the scent of flowers in bloom. Earlier that year she had ordered that all lilies be pulled from their roots and not allowed to grow back, and the garden still looked a bit lopsided, but that could surely be fixed, she hoped. Her hatred of Lily Evans should not force her to have a ruined garden.

Turning on her toe, Maia appeared back at the monument in Godric’s Hollow and looked about her. The church was still standing and she could hear Muggles singing hymns inside. It must be Sunday, she realized. Maia hadn’t noticed the passing of the days.

Rushing past the church, she went down toward the lane where she knew the cottage resided.

When she saw it, sitting there with vines crawling up the thatch, Maia took a deep breath and wished she had brought a house warming gift. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. 

She only had to knock once before Lux Kingsley strangely opened the door. 

Maia raised an eyebrow in skeptical wonder at the other witch’s presence, but Lux only smiled and helped her in. “Where Sirius goes, I follow,” she explained quietly, “and the other way around.”

“Godsiblings,” she realized. “Is Monsieur James here? Uncle Marvolo kicked him out of my room at St. Mungo’s.” Holding up her hand to illustrate her point, she shrugged. 

The gruff voice of Sirius Black entered the fray, “Darling, did you send them away?”

Maia was now certainly confused. Darling? What was going on here?

Lux squeezed her shoulders and brought her into the kitchen where the wizards were lounging in Muggle jeans. “I brought a gift. I found her wrapped up on the doorstep in these robes.”

Looking up, she caught James’s hazel gaze, still without the confounded glasses. He stood there for a long moment before he took two long strides to her and enveloped her in a strong hug. “This okay?” he whispered into her ear.

A smile formed on her face and she pulled herself closer. “Yes,” she admitted. “You just can’t kiss me—sleep with me, obviously. No overt hand holding.”

“Barbaric things,” he murmured, pulling back and stroking her cheek, staring into her blue eyes. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t hold with those rings. My parents wear them, but they always said they wanted me to ‘step into the future’.”

“Haven’t you noticed, Monsieur James?” she asked carefully, not bothering to look at his companions. “We’re purebloods. We’ve never left the sixteenth century, if we even got that far.”

A smile erupted onto his face and he took her hand and squeezed it. Turning to Sirius and Lux, he suggested, “Lunch? The pub perhaps before the Muggles get out of church.”

Maia looked down at her robes. “Er—I’m not—”

Sirius waved a hand. “They won’t notice. Lux is constantly waltzing around in her robes. Can’t get her out of them.” He’d wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek, which she thought was peculiar since she was wearing a vined ring, but perhaps that had something to do with being godsiblings.

“It’s decided,” James announced. “And this time we won’t have any accidents involving magical artifacts.”

“No,” Maia agreed, laughing to herself. “Let’s not do that again.”

**2018/12/26-2018/12/27**


	6. Part the Sixth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric takes Halcyone to the Burrow to celebrate Fleur's engagement ... naturally, there's a Death Eater raid ... and Hallie finally meets the Dark Lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About two weeks ago I **rewrote** chapters 1-5. They now have minor changes.  
> 1\. Hallie is the child of James Potter and Maia Gaunt. However, **Harry Potter** (the child of James and Lily) also exists. This is a **major plot point**. They both have scars. Harry is regarded as the BWL, but is he?  
> 2\. Lily and Severus have a child, Clemens, who is a few years younger than Harry and Hallie.   
> 3\. Draco's uncle, **Lord Roman** is still only mentioned but will play a major role.  
> 4\. **THE DEFINING LINE between Lord Marvolo and the Dark Lord** is much more apparent now.   
> 5\. There will be no more changes as the fic is finished except for minor editing.

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 18 August, 1996_  
  
Cousin Marvolo leaned up against the doorway as Hallie applied her lipstick, almost ready to go. She had chosen a yellow sundress, which she thought would be festive enough for the party and yet would be Muggle enough for the pub later that evening. Her wizard cross lay against her skin, warm and assuring.

“No,” Cousin Marvolo decided as he come up to her and took in the dress. “Not for the Weasleys, I hate to say it.” Then, strangely, he went into her closet and rooted around until he took out a dress she had never seen before. It was in the Muggle style, a sweater dress with no sleeves that went straight from the shoulders to above the knees, with a pattern of black and gray diamonds the size of her hand. Going up and touching it, she realized it wasn’t a sweater at all but a light wool that was clearly breathable. 

“Enchanted sheep,” he murmured, holding it out to her. “You put one of those shirts under it, and your gogo boots I know you’re hiding.”

She stilled. “You knew I was hiding my gogo boots?”

“Your mother had gogo boots,” he responded with a shrug. “I didn’t forbid her, I see no reason to forbid you.—And I’m not here to forbid you, Halcyone. I’m here to make your life a better one.”

Nodding, she took the dress and held it up to her in front of the mirror. It was certainly a very different look. In the end, she had to leave her shirt unbuttoned near the top of the dress to show off her wizard cross. She wanted everyone to suspect her politics. Purebloods and conservative leaning half-bloods wore these crosses (and the occasional Muggleborn who thought himself better than he was). Hallie was declaring herself. And didn’t it feel delicious?

Hallie and Cedric were meeting in the village as Cousin Marvolo had confirmed that he did have Death Eaters wandering the house, and she didn’t want Diggory going and telling anyone. Not only was he an auror, but he seemed to be friends with her half-brother, so she’d rather he not find out. They had some sort of Quidditch professionalism from what she could tell that dated back from their first match in Third Year when Harry had fallen off a broom because of Dementors but Diggory had caught the Snitch before asking for a rematch.

She’d never had any interest in the sport since she twisted her ankle during the first lesson. Some of the other girls had laughed at her, but Draco had carried her up to the hospital wing where it was set right, and then promised her she’d never have to get on another broom if she never wanted to.

Diggory was wearing jeans and a pullover, his shirt tails sticking out in a way that might have been adorable if he were younger, and he came up to her and kissed her cheek, causing her ring to twinge. She grimaced and noticed a similar expression on his face.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “I never tried—it’s—right. Won’t happen again.”

Hallie tried to give him a smile, but it unfortunately fell flat. “Do I look presentable enough for the Muggles?” she finally asked, getting out of her booth where she had been waiting and standing to show him the dress. “Usually I just wear pureblood black, but I thought I’d wear something a little different since it’s a party.”

“No,” he breathed, staring at her. “You’re beautiful, Gaunt.”

She nodded and took his arm as he led her out of the pub to a place where it was safe to Apparate. 

The Burrow looked like it was a house that had had several extensions added onto it by magic and they were all somehow sagging off from the main hub of the cottage. It was rather eccentric even by magical standards, Hallie thought to herself, as they moved forward into the clearly waiting party. 

Hallie looked around for anyone she knew, but she mainly saw Gryffindors and people she had given detention to, and she even caught sight of Mrs. Snape somewhere in the crush. Keeping close to Diggory, she greeted the bride and told her how radiant she looked—which wasn’t hard to do since she was a quarter Veela—and started chatting to some French witches about the difference between British and Continental bridal gowns. At least Pansy was good for something.

“So,” Weasley stated as he came into the conversation obnoxiously, “you didn’t bring your boyfriend?”

“I’m here with Diggory,” she explained carefully, pointing him out across the room where he was talking to Krum and they kept on catching glances at her. It was probably a male thing. Lord Roman did it, too. “I also don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Not Malfoy?” he asked harshly, going in for some punch, which was the spiked one from what she could tell.

“Malfoy is going with Parkinson,” she stated carefully. “You should really keep up on your Slytherin house politics.” She rolled her eyes.

Weasley, however, wasn’t finished. “Why you here then?”

She looked at him for a long second. “For the same reason you are. I’m celebrating Fleur Delacour’s engagement. To your brother. Happiness.” This last bit she filled with full and utter insincerity, just to annoy him. Making to walk away, she wasn’t at all surprised when he blocked her.

Immediately, Diggory was striding over and pulling him away. “Do we have a problem here?”

“You brought a spy,” Weasley immediately proclaimed, pointing to her. “A slimy, Slytherin spy. I don’t care if her parents were members of the Order.”

At this, she raised a brow. “I assure you my mother was never—” she declared heatedly, thinking of the little she knew of Maia Gaunt. Her portrait hung in the living room in family den, her hair the same honey blonde, her eyes a shocking blue like Cousin Marvolo’s. She rarely said anything, her eyes forever watching. One time, she asked Hallie what she was reading, and then if she were a Gaunt as she seemed to live in Riddle Manor, but then said nothing after Hallie answered her.

“Your mother is a whore,” Weasley spat into her face. “She has the slash on her hand to prove it.”

Harry turned up then and actually landed one on Weasley’s nose.

Hallie just took several steps back and sucked in a breath as punch got all over her boots, which Diggory quickly charmed away for her.

“Thank you, Harry,” Hallie murmured and her hazel eyes caught her brother’s bright green ones. Two identical scars were on their heads. She took a sip of her punch and walked around the Weasel, not caring who was speaking about her as she smiled and started talking to someone who turned out to be a Weasley brother, and a rather dull one at that.

All in all, it was a wash.

  
… … … … …

Lord Marvolo Gaunt didn’t want to prepare for the deep sleep. Carefully, he took up the pen and wrote the message of where Hallie would be that evening, who she would be with, what she was wearing, the gogo boots, the dress, the cross around her neck. Hopefully it would be enough.

Looking at the crimson robes that were prepared in the closet one more time, he then stripped to just a simple pair of sleeping robes and closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be the person waking up.

… … … … …  


Hallie wasn’t looking forward to going out with the other champions to the pub later that night after dinner, but she allowed herself to be dragged by Diggory whose expression resembled a hurt crup.

At first, no one noticed that anything had gone wrong, that anything was different. And then the windows blew in. The shattering of glance splashed around them and Hallie noticed several cuts of Delacour and Longbottom’s hands, but strangely the glass seemed to fade against her skin as if it were nothing more than misting water. Despite her lack of injury, Hallie immediately fell under the table and took out her wand, uncertain why the Death Eaters would hit Ottery-St.-Catchpole. (She was, though, privately thankful that someone knew she was present—perhaps Cousin Marvolo had told them?—and took precautions to ensure her safety.)

“Stay here,” Diggory told her, his gray eyes looking into hers imploringly, and she took a deep breath. 

Her eyes tracked her half-brother who gave her a cocky grin, the kind he seemed to reserve only for her. Looking imploringly at him, she hoped he wouldn’t get hurt. He was always a bit of a target.

However, there was no way she was going to fight. Diggory didn’t need to worry and she prayed Harry could take care of himself, but she didn’t stay under the table because Diggory told her to. Hallie listened to no one and nobody, except professors when it came to Hogwarts. She was her own woman and always had been, ever since she learned that her Muggle family didn’t really care about her except for appearances and her supposed mother—Mrs. Snape—had cast her off.

As she crouched under the table, Hallie’s mind raced. Cousin Marvolo probably wasn’t out there—but people that had been wandering around the manor might be. She felt a certain comradeship with them. It seemed they had been told not to talk to her, apart from a preliminary greeting, but they all believed in the same goals. The all wanted the Takeover. If the Dark Lord was really back, they all followed him, and if he wasn’t, they followed in his memory.

Hallie shivered as spells started to be shouted and colors erupted into the pub proper, and she curled up into a ball against the wall. The unmistakable voice of her brother casting Expeliarmus filtered through her consciousness. Then she realized it: the table wasn’t attached to the wall. Carefully, she inserted her fingers up into the gap between the table and the wall and pushed outward. The table made a scraping sound and a whizz of pale purple magic came close to the gap where she was hiding and she pushed with more vigor.

Popping her head into the space, she saw the window that had shattered and she murmured an “Alohamora!” Thankful for all of her escapades with Draco, Blaise, and Pansy against the “Trio” as they were called, Hallie pulled herself up by her fingers, flipped herself up and rolled out onto the street.

Hallie didn’t even have time to react. Immediately, a wand was placed at her chin and she breathed heavily, her hair falling out of its knot into a three pronged ponytail, and she looked into startling red eyes. She’d never seen eyes like that before and all thoughts she previously had of other wizards—of other eyes—immediately vanished.

Licking her lips and seeing the face that had been splashed all over The Daily Prophet, she rasped, “I am Lady Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt, the trueborn daughter of Lady Maia Gaunt and Auror James Potter, and ward of Lord Marvolo Gaunt.” When the Dark Lord didn’t move his wand, she continued. “I’m a Slytherin Prefect, member of The Wicked Stepmother, I have high O.W.L. scores if that matters?” The last bit she added because she needed something to say. “I support the Takeover.” There, that seemed to be the right thing to say and caught his attention.

“Lady Mabelle,” he repeated carefully, his voice high and nasally. “Your cousin has spoken of you often.”

At this she relaxed. “I’m only here for a change,” she swore. “Slytherins talk about the same thing over and over again—and I like parties, though not ones with Weasleys, I’ve discovered.”

“Then we shall take you away, Lady Mabelle,” the Dark Lord decided, his slits for eyes oddly heated in the semi darkness. “Do not worry for your friends.”

“No,” she agreed, taking a step toward him. “They have their own protectors—and they have made their choices. Just—my brother—” Hallie never begged, but Harry was dear to her even if they sometimes didn’t see things wand to wand.

“Brother?” he asked in high voice, his head cocked to the side.

Suddenly a little afraid for Harry, she shook her head and whispered, “Never mind.”

And with that the Dark Lord came up to her and placed both his thumbs on her eyes and whispered a spell in a language she almost recognized and yet couldn’t quite place. There was something comforting about his scent. It was almost as if she remembered it from somewhere, and yet it was spicier than what she recalled from the haze of her memory.

She must have drifted off to sleep because she woke up on a plush bed in a small one-room cottage. The moon shone through window, illuminating the white sheets and the stain of blood red that was next to her. Turning to get a better look, Hallie felt her hair swish around her face as if it had completely fallen from its bindings or someone had taken it down. She hurriedly pushed it off of her face, but a pale white hand came up and grasped her wrist, pulling it from her eyes.

“No, Lady Mabelle,” the Dark Lord demanded harshly, his slits for eyes searching for her hazel ones. 

It was then that she realized the crimson stain in the bed with her was the Dark Lord. He was lying on his side, his pale bald head against the pillow, his crimson robes flowing around him over the sheets. She was lying underneath the white sheets in the summer cool, her gogo boots having been slipped off. 

“Where—Where are we, Dark Lord?” she asked.

At this a smirk curved the side of his face, something strangely erotic about it, and he admitted, “The home of Marvolo Gaunt—the first Marvolo Gaunt. Your Cousin has kept this cottage in readiness since your mother first became a prefect, thinking it would be beautiful and have a sense of history for her to spend her wedding night here.—She had other ideas, clearly. Perhaps,” he murmured, a curiosity in his voice, “he thinks it is for you now.”

She surreptitiously looked around at the white washed walls, at the stained wood on the floor, and murmured, “We’re in Little Hangleton.”

“Yes,” the Dark Lord hissed. “I brought you home once the raid was finished. You have been reported missing and will need to go into the Ministry and weave some tale.—Unless, of course, the Ministry has come to you.”

Sitting up, she shrugged, letting the sheet fall away from her shoulders. “I was knocked unconscious and woke up back in the safety of my cousin’s estate. Stranger things, I’m sure, have happened during raids.”

It was then that she realized she wasn’t wearing the dress anymore. Instead she was in a pale blue silk negligee and robe. She fingered the fabric in curiosity, wondering exactly what had happened, knowing the ring on her finger would have protected her, and then gazed up at the Dark Lord again.

“You are too beautiful,” he told her by way of answer, reaching out and letting his long pianist fingers run through her falling hair, “even in your Muggle clothes.” His eyes traveled to the symbol around her neck, which glowed in the darkness. “I would say that I hope I never see you on one of my raids again, but then I would be lying, Lady Mabelle.”

“Halcyone—” she corrected in a soft voice, but he didn’t seem to have heard her. 

The light caught his finger and she looked down to see what seemed to be onyx encasing his finger in an obscured vine. She reached out to touch it, but then withdrew.

“Perhaps we will see each other at my cousin’s house. He’s a supporter,” she murmured.

“You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t,” the Dark Lord told her quite plainly before he was running his hand through her hair, “unless I intended to capture you and corrupt you.” He leaned forward so that his lips were mere millimeters from hers, a daring half-kiss, before he pulled away from her to look into her eyes. “Who has your heart, Mabelle Gaunt?”

She shook her head quickly, her hair falling in waves and obscuring her eyes. “No one. We were just some kids, out having fun, celebrating an engagement.”

“Well,” he murmured, as he brushed her hair back to the side, away from her forehead where it had once again fallen. “Stay away from boys such as Diggory. He’s an Auror—and I doubt your cousin would be much pleased.” His nostrils flared, barely pinpricks in his skin as he had no nose. 

“He didn’t stop me—”

“He didn’t stop you,” the Dark Lord told her plainly, letting his finger run up her bare arm, “because he doesn’t want to lose you the way he lost Lady Maia. Think about it. Think about him and his position. There are lines in the sand—”

“And I have drawn mine,” she began, but he simply stopped her.

“No, you haven’t,” he told her. “Telling everyone who your mother is and that you agree with her is not drawing a line in the sand.” (How had he heard that even though she had been at Flourish and Blotts? She wondered) “Drawing a line in the sand is standing beside your mother, beside your cousin, and associating only with those who are good for you. If you’re so terribly bored with Slytherins speaking about my rise to power—which I’m sure can be wearing after a time—” (at this he gave her what could actually pass as a smile and clipped her chin affectionately) “—then go out into the Muggle world and try some Muggle baiting with your friends. Perhaps torment the relatives of Mrs. Snape you were forced to live with.” His red eyes flashed in the darkness. “Think on it.” At this he tapped her nose and he drew her back down on the bed so that they were looking at each other in the half-light.

After a long moment when he was just stroking her arm, she murmured, “Shouldn’t I go back to Riddle House?”

“They’ll be at the doors looking for you in the morning. It’s best if you appear in your dress, a bit disheveled with your hair down. You’ll pose the perfect picture of pureblood elegance, refinement, and confusion.—Your cousin knows you’re in safe hands.”

She snuggled into the pillow then and pulled the sheet over her, aware that the edge of his cloak was draped over her legs. “Is Cousin Marvolo a Death Eater? My guess is he’s some sort of political support but not an actual Death Eater—”

“Aren’t you clever?” he mused, stroking the hair at her temple. “He is highly valued, more so than others you might guess.” The two looked at each other and he whispered, “Go to sleep. I don’t want to use magic on you.”

Hesitantly, Hallie let her eyes flutter closed and felt as the covers were fussed over around her. At first she was hyper aware of every breath the Dark Lord took, but then the evenness of them moved her into slumber and she was only aware that she was floating—

—Until she opened up her eyes and she was alone in the cottage, the room flooded with light from the large windows on either side of the bed. 

She took a deep breath and found her wand, casting a tempus and realizing it was past eight in the morning. Her dress was draped over a chair next to the bed and she quickly got changed, leaving the negligee under the pillow after she made the bed without magic (some habits from the Dursleys died hard). 

She made certain to miss-button her shirt, to leave a cufflink behind. With her nail she started a run in her tight to show that she had been in a bit of a struggle and then she left the cottage, closing the door behind her. Her blonde hair fell over her ears and down her shoulders, and she hadn’t let it flow so freely, even among relatives, since she was eleven years old. 

She was at the base of a hill and she could see Riddle House at the top of the ridge, the gardens around it, and she hurried forward toward it. 

As soon as her foot hit the path up from the village, the door from the upper house flung open and she saw Cousin Marvolo, handsome as ever though a little disheveled in the robes he had worn the day before, come out and call out at the top of his lungs, “Halcyone!”

Waving, she picked up her pace and flung herself in her cousin’s arms when she reached him, crying. “I’m safe,” she whispered. “The Dark Lord kept me safe.”

“Thank the Old Gods,” he swore, holding her close. 

He led her into the house, after he held her out at arm’s length and looked over every hurt and cut and scrape, and then introduced her to a tall thin man with a mustache from the Ministry.

“I—” she sighed. “I escaped through the window and then I must have been knocked out. I woke up this morning in some—cottage—and I just opened the door and saw Riddle House in the distance.”

Cousin Marvolo immediately spoke: “My grandfather kept a cottage. It’s made up as a honeymoon suite. It’s not exactly a secret among my friends and associates, although it’s really never been used since my uncle Morfin Gaunt—that was your great-grandfather, Halcyone—was sentenced to Azkaban.”

“Yes,” the Ministry worker murmured, making a note with his quill. “Muggle baiting and torture and murder. I read the Gaunt file.—Young lady, you are lucky that whoever knocked you out took you to safety. Some of your friends weren’t so lucky.”

Trying to look anxious, Halcyone asked quietly, “Diggory?”

“Ah, yes, your boyfriend. Safe and sound. I expect he’ll be around.” Hallie suspected not since he wasn’t allowed on the property. Plus, she didn’t want to see him. She wanted to daydream about blue slits for eyes and a strange nasally voice that penetrated her very senses.

The man’s mustache twitched from side to side. How peculiar.

“Right,” she stated. “I better get in the bath then as I’ve been climbing through grimy pub windows—and my hair probably needs attention.” Looking anxiously at Cousin Marvolo, Hallie walked out of his arms and up the stairs to her private suite where she was going to burn this dress. 

Of course, she didn’t see Diggory. She knew Cousin Marvolo had a letter, but she was more concerned with the article that came out in The Daily Prophet and announced that she had been kidnapped during a Death Eater raid only to be returned to her guardian. 

She would go to the cottage that was pristinely clean as if she had never been there, and sit on the bed and wonder where the Dark Lord was then at that moment. Hallie would bring her letters and look over them, not bothering to write back until she was at the Manor. 

Even bringing Draco with her once, she motioned to the bed. “We just slept there all night. The Dark Lord was gone when I awoke.”

Draco took her hand and squeezed it. “Why do you call him that?”

Thinking it an odd question, she admitted: “Well, he looked like all the photographs. The slits for eyes, the lack of nose, the unearthly pale skin. His voice was high pitched yet undeniably masculine.” She looked away in embarrassment, her cheeks flushed. “—Really. He also answered to the name ‘Dark Lord.’”

A look in his silver eyes, Draco then nodded in recognition. “That would be the Dark Lord then.” It seemed like he wanted to say something else, but he hesitated.

“What is it—?”

“Did he know who you were?”

“Yes,” she answered. “I told him I was the Lady Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt. Really, Draco, why are you acting so strangely?”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he patted the seat next to him, and she went and sat down. Taking her hand, he entwined their fingers. “Our Lord is great and terrifying and powerful but he lives a rather—reclusive life. He hides himself away. When he lives his life as an ordinary citizen, he purposefully forgets who he is and what he must do. He works for the cause—for the Takeover, you understand—”

“What are you saying?” she laughed. “This makes no sense.”

“The Dark Lord is the like the Roman god Janus,” he tried to explain, starting over with a deep breath.

“The two faced god?” she asked. Janus, for whom the month January was named, looked with one face toward the future, and then another face, growing from the back of his head, facing toward the past. “He couldn’t go around with that face as another man attached to his own. I would have seen it.”

“No,” he answered carefully. “A different face. The Dark Lord, from what any of us can tell, is a metamorphmagus.”

This idea just boggled her mind and she looked at him in horror. “Are you saying that the Dark Lord has a completely separate identity as a normal wizard most of the time with a different face?”

Draco just looked at her perceptively, clearly willing her to understand.

“But he’s the same man,” she checked.

Taking both her hands in his, he replied: “No. He’s not. He’s two separate men. And now you’ve met the Dark Lord—who seems to have some kind of romantic designs on you. I’ve never heard of another wizard sleeping in a maiden’s bed. Usually fear of the vined ring prevents them, or they choose to wait until the mysteries of marriage.”

Hallie swallowed and looked behind her at the bed. 

She was utterly confused.

**2018/12/28 (2019/01/21)  
**


	7. Part the Seventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Dark Lord proves himself the romantic ... but is he?

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 31 August, 1996_

The Dark Lord watched her from afar. Every time he woke from his deep sleeps, there would be notes on her in his book. He read about her friendship with Draco Malfoy in particular, of how she had not even contacted Cedric Diggory since the Dark Lord had returned her to the Riddle Estate.

Tomorrow she was set to go back to Hogwarts. 

Sixth year. Slytherin. Prefect. 

He remembered what it was like to want to strip off those horrible ugly socks from a witch’s calves, to suck a lovemark on her neck, to make her think that the both of you might conquer the future if she only pleased you enough. 

Of course, there wasn’t really any question. Mabelle was everything he had ever desired and more. He just had to wait seventy years to find her… He remembered the first notation about her—Halcyone—a name unfitting for a Gaunt. Uncommonly beautiful, uncommonly clever, uncommonly graceful—His interest had been piqued but he doubted he would ever meet the girl unless she became one of his Death Eaters, and he knew Lord Marvolo would never allow that. 

He always wanted to separate his life from the Dark Lord’s, not that the Dark Lord could blame him.

There was something different about Mabelle, however—

Slipping on his crimson robes over his white shirt sleeves, red and black waistcoat, starched cravat, and red trousers, the Dark Lord went in front of the mirror and watched as blue eyes shifted into slits, as the nose melted away, and the hair on his head fizzled out into nothing. Now he felt like himself.

Today Mabelle would be going out to visit Diggory just this once before she went back to Hogwarts. No reason was given, just the hurried notation. 

Something would have to be done about this. Mabelle couldn’t possible be allowed to forget about the Dark Lord, the man she had allowed into her bed, with some simple minded child.

  
… … … … …

Hallie, if she admitted it to herself, was a little bit peeved. She was leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow and she was forced to see Diggory. Auror. Why did she ever agree to go to that Weasley-infested party with him? Stupid! Ignorant! Foolhardy!

She wanted to dress in one of her pretty new dresses, now that she had wizard clothes, and let Draco twirl her into The Wicked Stepmother. They could spend all afternoon laughing together, eating sweets that were charmed to have no fat and virtually no calories, and then whispering about the other witches and wizards at the other tables, what they were wearing, who they might be, guessing the most grandiose and ridiculous pureblood names they could think of.

“Euphemia,” Draco had once guessed and she had squeezed his hand painfully. When he looked at her in confusion, she asked, pointedly:

“Have you forgotten the name of my grandmother?”

However, there would be no games today.

Well, she thought to herself in an exaggerated manner, it would be one large game. She had almost told the Ministry worker exactly who had saved her, down to the slits of his eyes. Hallie was drawing a line in the sand and she intended to stand on her side of it. Hallie never said that she spoke to him, that he had spoken to her, that he had slept in her bed. She never declared that she supported the Takeover, only that someone had saved her—and she’d let them infer that it was a Death Eater or someone even more—powerful.

On second thoughts, Hallie was a little afraid of what Dumbledore would say or do with that information. She’d heard rumors… horrible rumors…

Then again, her half-brother was rather close to the old fool. Perhaps that would save her.

Perhaps not.

She appeared dressed in black jeans and a black corset, a black translucent blouse under it, to complete the look. The blouse had a hood, shimmery, which was pinned to the top of her head. Hallie decidedly did not look like a Muggle. She looked like a witch. However, she didn’t much care. She was drawing a line in the sand, after all.

Coming into the pub, she saw Diggory who was nursing a pint despite the earliness of the hour, and he immediately stood and came up to her. “I was so worried,” he confessed, reaching for her, but she side stepped him so that his fingers wouldn’t touch her.

“It’s been over a week,” she told him carefully. “How worried were you?”

“I wrote to your cousin—”

“Well,” she stated casually, crossing her arms. “I hope he wrote back and told you how well I was faring. You do realize I was kidnapped, though unharmed.”

Diggory suddenly looked worried and motioned that they should return to the boot, his pint waiting on the table. His gray eyes shone from his face, and he was as handsome as he ever was, but he frankly couldn’t compare to the Dark Lord’s sheer magnetism. He had never even compared to Lord Roman and all of his rakish ways.

When she slid into the seat, Diggory signaled the barmaid over and Hallie asked for a coke, as she couldn’t think of another Muggle drink she’d like at that moment.

“They are—rumors, Gaunt,” Diggory began carefully.

“Rumors?” she stated airily, looking at him with her large hazel eyes. “What sort of rumors?”

“You were seen—during the raid—with,” and now he leaned forward, “You-Know-Who.”

She took him in for all of three seconds before shrugging. “I’ve made no secret of it. He’s the one who took me to safety—kidnapped me in layman’s terms—and brought me back to within walking distance of Riddle House.” Her coke came, but she didn’t bother to look up. “He’s terribly gentlemanly in this strange—” (she searched for the words) “—well, I’m not exactly sure how. The Dark Lord is like no one I’ve ever met.”

Diggory, through this speech, just sat there, stunned. Then, as soon as Hallie broke off speaking and took a sip of her drink, he downed a large gulp of beer. “Gaunt,” he whispered desperately. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“That the Dark Lord is a gentleman to pureblood ladies,” she responded calmly, “or Gaunts. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m Sacred Twenty-Eight.” Shrugging, she returned to her drink and watched him carefully.

Diggory was clearly flabbergasted, not that she cared. “I’m an Auror—” he stated firmly as if this should mean something.

She scoffed. “My father was an Auror. I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“We enforce the law,” he insisted, but she was frankly unimpressed.

Leaning forward, her arms pressed against the wood of the table and her hands resting on the opposite of each wrist, Hallie asked, “What exactly did I do wrong? A skirmish broke out, I got out of immediate danger, found myself in front of the most feared wizard on the island, and so I told him exactly who I was so he wouldn’t curse me—and it worked! Then I was kidnapped.” She left out the bit where she had slept beside the Dark Lord, his crimson cloak covering her in her dreams. “Does he always wear red? I noticed he did in that photograph of him at the Ministry a few months ago.”

Looking at her incredulously, Diggory admitted hotly, “How should I know?”

She shrugged and returned to her drink. “Just curious. I’m not planning to run into him again.”

“That’s a relief.” Diggory reached out to touch her arm, but she pulled them off of the table in a clear message and leaned back.

“Anything else?” Hallie asked. She heard, in the distance, the pub door opening and the color red caught her eye. In absolute confusion, she turned and saw a man with a mop of sandy hair, pale, but with freckles. He was dressed impeccably in royal blue robes, edged in silver, and was holding a large bouquet of blood red roses.

They were small blooms, tightly curled, clearly not from the hot house, but freshly grown.

From across from her, Diggory choked, probably on his beer. “What is the Minister’s son doing here?”

“Crouch?” she asked, turning back to Diggory. “That’s Bartemius Crouch’s son? Huh.” 

Turning back to the wizard, she saw him look around and, on spotting the two of them, walked over to them with assured strides. 

With a bow to Hallie, though careful not to disturb the flowers in his arms, Crouch’s son showed her obeisance. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Lady Mabelle Gaunt?” His voice was smooth and she certainly appreciated the cut in his robes. He seemed familiar somehow…

“I’ve seen you at my cousin’s house,” she realized, “Lord Marvolo Gaunt.”

“Indeed, Madam,” he agreed with a wolfish grin. “I have not had the pleasure of introducing myself before now. I am Monsieur Bartemius Crouch, Jr. ‘Barty’ to my friends, and I hope I can count you among them.”

He reached out with his right hand, careful not to disturb the roses that were spread out in a large antiquated style of bouquet that she found absolutely enchanting. Placing her fingers in his, he lifted her hand to beneath his lips without kissing them.

“Excuse me,” Diggory stated, pushing his pint away, which was almost finished. “Do you mind not ogling my girlfriend?”

Hallie turned back to him in incredulity. “I’m not your girlfriend. I went to one party with you and you wait over a week after a Death Eater raid where I was ‘kidnapped’ to check on me.”

“I wrote your uncle—” he stated, “as honor demands.”

She took him in and decided that his good looks were common before turning back to Barty. “How may I help you today, Monsieur Barty?” Hallie smiled at him in friendliness, her eyes flicking hopefully to the flowers. She might have a whole garden at her disposal, which Hallie understood was her mother’s brainchild, but flowers for her bedside table, even if for one night—

Bowing to her again, he proffered the flowers and she sighed happily as she took them. She leaned in and breathed in the wonderful scent. “Thank you, Monsieur Barty. This is a truly wonderful gesture. I am only a little confused as to why you wish to give me flowers—”

“As much as I wish to take credit,” he told her charmingly, “they’re not from me. I am only the messenger.”

Hallie looked at him for a long moment and turned back to the flowers, wondering at the strange though wonderful gift. Then she noticed it: a blood red notecard, no larger than the palm of her hand, tucked within the blossoms unassumingly. 

Smirking at Barty, she picked out the card and noticed that it was blood red parchment with white ink. With admiration and devotion, LV. Lifting her eyebrows, she turned back to the self-proclaimed messenger. “These initials—” she checked carefully. “I’ve seen them before. My mind goes certain places, but I would never presume—”

Taking the two in for a moment, Barty folded his hands and asked, “With your permission, Lady Halcyone.” She noticed a silver vined ring, terribly intricate, with nicks in the silver to create an even more interesting design, climbed up his finger. 

She nodded to him carefully, and he leaned toward her and whispered in her ear, “The Dark Lord. That is his usual calling card.”

Her hazel eyes flashed up to Barty and a smile crept onto her face. Then she leaned in to the blooms, cradling them in the crook of her left arm, and took a deep breath.

“Hallie—” Diggory stated warily as he watched her.

Without even looking up, she told him, “Only professors who don’t know who I am call me that, and I rather resent it, Monsieur Cedric. Please refrain from such plebian diminutives of my name.” Her hazel eyes flashed at him. “I’ve said all I want to say. I find I need to speak to Monsieur Barty as no one has given me flowers before—”

Standing, the flats of his hands pounding on the table, Diggory stated fiercely, “You’ve changed.”

“No, I haven’t,” she responded, taking him in. “I’ve always been like this. You just never saw me. Who did you see, the lovechild of an Auror and a Mudblood? The Mudblood,” she sneered, “left me with magic hating Muggles who only wanted me because I helped create the picture of a perfect normal family. My father was a pureblood of refined character and my mother was a dark witch. I associate with dark wizards. What do you expect?”

“Mrs. Snape was right about you,” he stated as a parting shot.

“She should know. She hates me for the simple fact that I’m her never-quite-husband’s daughter.” 

Diggory tossed his wavy hair, which she supposed was supposed to be dreamy but just seemed like a childish move, and then left.

Barty was waiting beside the table patiently and she turned to him. 

“I apologize. I find that certain—individuals—with certain sympathies need everything spelled out for them. It’s quite vexing.”

He made a motion with his hand toward the vacated seat, and she nodded. “You have no need to apologize. Schoolboys are schoolboys. They’re all the same.”

She leaned forward, placing her roses on the table between them after he had grabbed her coke out of the way. “May I quiz you? I find, before Diggory asked me to that ill-fated party when the raid occurred, no one has so much as suggested that I’m even pretty.” Except for Lord Roman. There was always Lord Roman. Did he count?

“Well,” he stated in an exaggerated manner, which was rather endearing. “If I may humbly observe, you are quite pretty, Lady Halcyone. Beautiful even. I believe, given this gift of flowers, our mutual friend agrees.”

She bit her lip. “I can’t ask Cousin Marvolo—but do you know if I’ll ever see him again?” She tried to sound like a witch confident in herself, but she was afraid she fell rather short of the mark. “He sent me flowers and I never dreamed—”

Leaning forward, he murmured, “Dream, Lady Halcyone.—Flip over the card. You didn’t receive the full message.”

She laughed. “You’ve read it.”

He lifted his hands, admitting it. “I had to know the message so I understood the answer.”

She flipped over the card. Will you dare the Forbidden Forest to meet an admirer? Biting her lip, she glanced up at Barty.

“May the old gods help me,” she admitted, “the answer is a definitive ‘yes’.—But I don’t want my name spread about in our circles. I just,” she tried to explain, “it’s—well—I don’t know what sort of reputation I’d get and I’m still in school. I have to survive.”

“You are a Slytherin, are you not?” he asked her carefully.

“Yes,” she agreed carefully. “Not everyone is a supporter of the Takeover, however.”

He bent his head toward her. “I understand, Lady Halcyone. You need to focus on your studies, not on idle chatter.”

“Thank you, Monsieur Barty,” Hallie murmured, turning back to her flowers. “How did he know I would like them—these wonderful roses?”

Barty looked at her for a moment. “I do not probe into such matters. I was pleasantly surprised to get this assignment. To my knowledge, our mutual friend has never favored a lady before.”

“Never?” she questioned in shock. “Even with his rise during my mother’s lifetime?”

“Even then,” he admitted. “May I escort you back to Riddle House?” Barty stood with a fluid grace and offered her his hand, which she gratefully took, the flowers once again in the crook of her arm. 

They walked out of the pub and looked up the hill toward Riddle House. The question was how she was ever going to tell Cousin Marvolo about these roses…

Unbeknownst to her, a red shadow was in an alleyway of Little Hangleton. Blue slitted eyes looked out toward the pair, at the roses in her arms, and a smile formed on his face.

  
… … … … …

“Tell me it’s not Diggory,” Draco stated as he lay back on her bed and she arranged the flowers. “I never thought that idiot would be so daft as to actually read Spungen’s.”

She ignored him for a moment as she arranged them prettily. “He didn’t.” 

At this, Draco immediately sat up. “Who did then?”

Glancing over her shoulder, Hallie asked, “Why should I tell you?”

“It’s your first courting gift,” he explained, swinging his legs off the bed. “He got it right. Flowers then—I can’t recall as I’ve never actually wanted to court you.”

Her eyebrows rose in amusement, Hallie stated, “a necklace, then a bracelet, then a tome of great worth—” She grasped one of the posts to her bed, and swung around. “Really, Draco. How can I tell you if I haven’t even told Cousin Marvolo? I couldn’t find him when I returned. It’s most unlike him.”

Draco looked at her knowingly, but clearly chose not to illuminate her on her cousin’s absence. “I’m your dearest friend—” he tried.

When Hallie still ignored him, he got up and went over to her. “You’ve known me five years and you’ve only known your cousin for about a month.” Then he seemed to see it. Reaching around her, he plucked the red card from its place among the blossoms and crowed. “Sister dearest, you are playing a dangerous game.”

“I know,” she admitted solemnly. “If I end up captured by the other side, they could interrogate me and—I don’t know, do they torture?—until they get useful information out of me. However, no one is going to find out. This is between me, Barty Crouch, Jr.,” (Draco lifted his brows in interest) “you, Cousin Marvolo when he makes an appearance, and the Dark Lord.”

“And whomever the Dark Lord has told.”

“He told Barty Crouch, Jr. who came and delivered the flowers.—I hate to know whom else he told.” The thought sent a shiver down her spine. All of the witches and wizards seemed polite enough when they came to the Manor, but some had an aura of sheer desperation or ill will that Hallie found unsettling.

“He told your cousin,” Draco stated resolutely. “I doubt even the Dark Lord would dare cross Lord Marvolo Gaunt when it comes to the Gaunt females.”

Hallie flicked sparks of magic from her fingers at him. “You make us sound like a tribe or a harem.”

“You are a harem. Lord Marvolo’s harem. From what I understand, he barely let Maia Gaunt out of his sight. It’s a wonder your father ever managed to court her.” Draco placed his hands on her shoulders and looked at the flowers. “Still, red is his signature color.”

“Yes,” Hallie agreed. “I had thought of that. They’ll make me think of him when I look at them.”

“And do you want to think of him?” Draco asked perceptively. “I had thought all your grousing about Uncle Roman was just—that—not that it seems to matter anymore. The Dark Lord is rather frightening to behold.”

Hallie turned in his arms and looked up at her dearest friend. “He’s rather magnificent to behold,” she admitted, ignoring the bit about Lord Roman. “When I saw the photograph of him two months ago, I thought he had creature blood, but his magic is too pure when it swirls around him for that sort of nonsense.”

“Well,” Draco mentioned off-hand. “He is a Gaunt.”

At this, Hallie stilled and looked away. Her eyes honed in on Faustus who was playing with some rose petals he had managed to get free when she had lain the flowers on her bed before she’d put them in the vase where they were now on display. The knowledge that Gaunts had a tendency to intermarry rushed over her like hot lead, and she moaned as her face fell into her hands. “No. Please, no.”

“Halcyone,” Draco stated carefully, fully turning her around. “What did I say?”

“The Gaunts,” she admitted. “We almost always marry other Gaunts. This is the worst news I could have possibly have gotten! The Dark Lord isn’t enchanted by me—he doesn’t care about me—he cares about my name.”

“If he only cared about your name,” Draco reasoned carefully, “he would have married your mother.”

She lifted her face from her hands, her hazel eyes peaking out, and whispered, “You think?”

“I know,” he stated decidedly. “Ask your cousin. He’ll tell you. You also don’t see him rushing off to marry you, do you?” Draco nodded firmly. “Now, no more worrying.”

“How can I not worry? He’s a Gaunt—how closely related are we?”

“Er—” Draco stopped. “I’m not an expert on your convoluted family tree, Halcyone. You’re going to have to ask someone else.”

“Someone else!” she whispered desperately. “The only ‘someone else’ available is my cousin! And he’s my great-uncle or some such nonsense!”

He tapped her affectionately on the nose. “Well, you have your answer then. Or you could just ask the Dark Lord, let him reassure you.”

Hallie stared at him incredulously. “What if he lies? He’s a dark lord. They must be good at lying, surely?” The thought suddenly paralyzed her and she stood in her friend’s arms, looking at him beseechingly. “Oh my god. He is lying with the flowers. He doesn’t really want to see me. He wants to bed my name so we can have more Gaunt children to propagate the Gaunt line! I wish I had thrown these flowers in Monsieur Barty’s face.”

“You were so happy—” Draco murmured distractedly, running his fingers along her hair, although careful not to disrupt it. “Think of the jewels at his disposal, of the great honor he can give you by placing you by his side as his dark lady once the Takeover is complete.”

Clearly trying to calm herself, she asked, “Do you think I care about that? I care about the wizard who stole me from a firefight, who stayed and watched over me as I slept not a mile from here, who brought me pretty flowers.”

“He watched over you while you slept?” Draco asked, his voice high and unlike him. “I don’t think he cares about your name—or just your name—” he amended quickly.

“Draco Narcissus Malfoy,” she stated imperiously. “He’s a Gaunt. Of course he cares about my name.—Maybe there’s still time to reconsider. Maybe Monsieur Barty’s in the house.” Trying to move out of her friend’s arms, she was nonetheless caught.

“You are beautiful and accomplished,” Draco told her firmly. “You’re of old pureblood stock other than the Gaunts, which perhaps intrigues the Dark Lord. Don’t write him off.—So help Uncle Roman.”

“I will not have my heart broken for the sake of blood purity,” she whispered desperately, gazing into his gray eyes. “Before the world thought me a filthy half-blood, possibly illegitimate, and now that it’s found out that I’m not—”

Lifting her chin with his finger, Draco philosophized, “Wizards will always court you for your name. They will court you because you are Lord Marvolo’s cousin. They will court you because you have a connection to the Dark Lord. It is already clear that you are favored, and I doubt that will go away even if (at this early stage) you put him off. You are the Lady Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt. Nothing will ever change that. This is what you wanted. Use it to your advantage. If you think the Dark Lord is seeking you for your name and your name alone after you meet him a few more times, then make him fall in love with you if that’s what you really want. You’re a clever witch. You can pull it off.”

“Make the Dark Lord fall in love with me? I don’t know the first thing about love. I’ve never seen it. I’ve only read about it.” Hallie scoffed and pulled her face away from her friend.

“Use what you’ve read,” he suggested. “Look at all the lovesick fools at Hogwarts. They sneak in and out of closets, I know you’ve noticed as prefect, taken points. See what the girls do.—Just don’t be a flirt.”

She snorted elegantly. “As if. I’m not Mrs. Snape.”

No, no she wasn’t. Hardly that with her low cut blouses and skirts that were just a little too high to be decent, even on a Mudblood.

“Make him fall in love with you,” Draco reiterated, grasping each of her hands in his own. “The Dark Lord—whatever he might look like and despite being a war lord—is a man—and for whatever reason he has noticed you.”

Yes, that was true. Now Hallie just had to learn how to manipulate a man, the most fearsome in Europe. And it was a challenge—which was just the way she liked it.

Faustus meowed from his place on the floor. He’d torn a rose petal to shreds and seemed quite proud of himself.

**2019/01/04**


	8. Part the Eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at Maia and the Dark Lord... as opposed to Lord Marvolo ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay. I've been in the ER and sleeping 20 hours a day since I got out. I'm not out of the woods yet, so prayers, good thoughts, positive energy is very much appreciated!

_James and Maia, 24 July, 1979  
_  
Maia was wearing pretty robes of a light blue with accents of gold. She thought it almost went with her hair, which although a honey color, could almost be called blonde.

The Dark Lord sat on her bed, dressed impeccably in red, the cufflinks she had given him on his last birthday a shock of color against his white shirtsleeves. They were his initials: TMR. Maia didn’t know what they stood for, though Uncle Marvolo had told her (in confidence) that the “M” was for their mutual grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt I.

That only made sense. Uncle Marvolo and the Dark Lord were like two sides of the same coin. When one face was shown, the other was hidden. When one voice spoke, the other was silent. It only made sense that the coin would share the similar trait of “Marvolo.”

“Are you certain your uncle told you that you could go? I know you were injured,” the Dark Lord drawled as he flipped through a book of poetry.

The two, frankly, didn’t care for each other but they were always polite. They were family after all.

“I’m meeting Slytherins and the lone Ravenclaw,” she told him precisely. “Two lone Ravenclaws. One is Heir Lucius Malfoy’s niece? Lady Lux.”

“A fine family,” he decided, snapping the book shut. “Anyone else?”

“Well,” she began carefully, looking at him through the mirror. “There are some persons of interest. Heir Regulus Black—he must surely be within your sights.”

His blue slits of eyes flashed at her, “Never you mind, girl. Who else?”

“Barty Crouch, Jr. from Ravenclaw, but he’s a good sort,” she assured him. “High marks. He’s a shoo-in for Head Boy next year. He despises that sycophant of a father who is putting all your Death Eaters on trial.” Really, she thought that they deserved it. A bit of Muggle baiting never hurt anyone, but outright torture and murder? The idea appalled her.

The Dark Lord wasn’t quite paying attention to her, his eyes focused on the book in his hands. “Who else, Maia?”

“Apricot Selwyn,” she answered a little tartly as she picked up her earrings. They were a gold with red roses dangling off them—a gift from James that he had secreted to her. He knew how much she adored flowers and they were Gryffindor colors, she noticed absently. Trust men to want to claim their women somehow. “You know the Selwyns, Dark Lord. Dark family. Proper. Apricot is a bit of a love who seems obsessed with her male relatives’ perspective marriages instead of her own.”

“She has brothers?” the Dark Lord noted absently.

“Manuel, a twin,” she told him. “They both just graduated Hogwarts. A year above me. Then there was Seximus Leopold. Everyone called him ‘Leopold.’ He was technically his father’s sixth son, but he’s the only one who survived to Hogwarts age. He’s several years ahead.”

Silence overwhelmed them for a moment before the Dark Lord murmured, “Yes, I know Leopold.” Oh, well. It seems he was a Death Eater, then, or at least on the Dark Lord’s radar.

Thinking that nattering on and not leaving the Dark Lord with his brooding thoughts was a good idea, she mentioned, “We’re all against the Ministry in some form or another. Take exception with it. Pureblood rights are important as we are—all—purebloods and none of us are blood traitors.” She spit this last term out. James was a blood traitor. He’d married a Mudblood! However, he was seeing the error of his ways. “We’re all seventh years or just graduated. You know. The old crowd.” 

“Did my kinsman give you those peculiar baubles in your ears?” The Dark Lord suddenly asked, not turning away from the book in his hands. “They’re like nothing else you seem to favor.”

Turning to where he was leaning against her armoire, Maia gave her relation a tight smile. “No. A girl at school—for Yule. She knows how much I like roses.”

“You have enough in your garden,” he drawled, pushing off from the armoire and going to the window to look out at the sprawling flowers. “I notice you tore up all the lilies.” His long fingers fluttered with the curtains. “I’m surprised your Uncle Marvolo let you. Merope Gaunt loved lilies. It’s one of the few things we know about her, your uncle and I.”

Her face suddenly stricken, she decided to play it off. “There was a rather scandalous marriage last year—between the House of Potter and a Mudblood. Her name was Lily. When the marriage remained unconsummated and he cast her from the Potter stronghold”—wherever that was; it certainly wasn’t the cottage in Godric’s Hollow—“then a few of us ladies decided to show our support that the House of Potter was remaining pure.”

“It will never be pure,” the Dark Lord intoned. “They’re not Sacred Twenty-Eight. They’re not Gaunts.” This last bit was said with an emphasis that frightened her. 

Turning to look at him, a black ribbon tied around her neck in the latest fashion, Maia stated, quite clearly, “Surely even you, Dark Lord, can appreciate a pureblood, even if he’s not Sacred Twenty-Eight, tossing a Mudblood from their marriage bed. It’s to be applauded. Whatever love potion,” (and didn’t she secretly hope this was the case?) “she’d placed him under clearly failed. Or maybe she forgot to feed it to him that morning.” Maia shrugged. She honestly didn’t believe it was a love potion. It was just a fairy story she liked to tell herself. 

The Dark Lord shifted uncomfortably from his place at the window, and Maia wondered at it. 

“So, this little club,” he murmured as he turned from the window to look at her startling blue eyes. “You get together and celebrate being purebloods?”

“And being of a like mind, yes,” she agreed, standing elegantly. “Surely you had your own group of friends and followers at Hogwarts, Dark Lord.”

“I did,” he confessed. “They’re now known as the Death Eaters.”

She hummed to herself and crossed to stand next to him, looking out at the flowers. “Are you planning a raid in Somerset today? I only ask in case we have to defend ourselves and we’re going to be in the West Country.”

“Cornwall,” he drawled, clearly uninterested. “Some villages there, the Muggle ports. You need not worry, little cousin.”

He only ever called her that when he was viewing her as a recalcitrant child, not that she minded. The Dark Lord was her cousin. They were bound together by blood and a magic so strong and terrible, Maia didn’t even completely understand it.

Feeling a little sentimental, she asked, “Would you let Uncle Marvolo come to my wedding when it occurs? I know he’s officially the Head of the House of Gaunt, but you do like to make your presence known.”

“Marrying Leopold Selwyn, are we?” he teased her, only the slightest of bites in his tone. “No, your Uncle Marvolo will walk you toward your husband. You need not worry about that—and no one from our side will disrupt the proceedings. Anything for our little girl.”

Our little girl.

It was a rather horrible turn of phrase. However, she was more Marvolo’s daughter than niece, and the Dark Lord was the side of him that few rarely saw. Still, thinking of the Dark Lord as a father-figure was rather disturbing. He was a man to be feared and reviled, and yet he always sent her pretty presents on her birthday and on her return to Hogwarts. The Dark Lord even sent her the occasional letter, although when she responded she didn’t know whether to expect his jagged penmanship or her own uncle’s elegant cursive.

A thought then seemed to occur to the Dark Lord. “Doesn’t the Kingsley girl spend an inordinate amount of time around her godsibling, who had the nerve to get disinherited for being against the Takeover and pureblood rights?”

Opening her mouth to speak, she quickly closed it. Then, remembering, she stated, “She’s rather close to Heir Regulus. They’re like brother and sister. Not as close as godsiblings, perhaps, but close enough. She was also raised at Malfoy Manor. The witch, dare I declare it, is dark, Dark Lord.”

A thoughtful look passed over his face. “If I gave you a note for Lady Lux—”

“Send it through Heir Lucius,” she begged. “They’re practically brother and sister, and she knows him much better than I. She’s invited through Reggie. I’m an unknown entity to her.”

The Dark Lord bowed his head to her. “As you say, Cousin.” His fingers pulled back the curtain once more as he looked down in the garden. “You really must do something to fix that.” It was a command and with that he strode from the room. Hopefully, he wouldn’t tell Uncle Marvolo when he woke from his restless sleep. If he did, well, then, she’d think of something.

Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she turned on her heel and appeared at the monument in Godric’s Hollow. The cenotaph was really quite ordinary, and Maia frankly didn’t like it. She looked around and saw St. Jerome’s church and then, up the lane, came James Potter.

One thing she liked is he didn’t try with her. He was wearing jeans and a long sleeve tee shirt, black and white striped, with a Lorcan d’Eath band shirt over it. Although the boy was only fifteen, he was making waves in the musical world.

He came up to her, took her hands in both of his and holding them out, swung them in a circle.

“You seem happy,” she noted, and he carefully took her right hand in hers and inspected the back of it, seeing the star shaped scar. “Don’t worry,” she begged. “It—it adds character.”

James grimaced once but then—in a break with all pureblood tradition—lifted the back of her hand up to his lips and kissed the scar. She felt a twinge in her finger and flexed it, James obviously feeling the motion, as he pressed her hand between both of his. “I’m never sure what I can and cannot do.”

“Well,” she responded carefully. “I’ve never had my hand kissed. Wizards tend not—”

“Of course they don’t,” he responded with a half-smile. “It’s because they can’t.” He went to push his glasses closer to his face, but once again he wasn’t wearing any. “Lunch?”

“Lunch,” she agreed and he led her to the local pub. 

Maia had been to the pub in Little Hangleton, but there she was ‘Miss Maia’, to be appreciated and respected. Here she was looked at a little strangely because of her robes, but she merely smiled at James as he led her to a round table and asked her what she’d like to drink.

“Oh,” she murmured, leaning forward. “A pint of something. Or a half-pint. I don’t much care. It’s only, I’m not allowed beer…” Maia let her voice hang off, and James’s hazel eyes sparkled at her.

“A shandy for the lady,” he decided, and she honestly didn’t know what that meant.

He returned with a full pint of bitters for himself and a half pint of some amber looking liquid for her.

“It’s a pale ale,” he told her, “made here in Somerset, mixed with lemonade. Women tend to like it. If you want another half-pint, then I’ll go get you one. Just in case you didn’t like it though—” He motioned to her smaller glass “—I decided to air on the safe side.”

“Well then, Monsieur James,” she decided, lifting her glass in an obvious cheer. “To us.”

He looked at her steadily for a moment, as if fully considering something, and then clinked glasses with her. “To the Lady Maia and Monsieur,” his voice became a bit pompous, “James Potter.”

Taking a sip of her drink, she found it rather light and wonderful. She smiled at James and nodded her head in acceptance of the drink. 

“Let us not have you end in the hospital again,” James tried to joke, his hand still holding onto his pint, but the joke fell rather flat.

“Don’t try to kiss me again,” she suggested sweetly. “No, I realize it must be different with purebloods than with—others,” she stated politely, not mentioning ‘Mudbloods’, however she might wish to. “We’re a complicated sort—but we’re your sort, James Potter.”

He shrugged. “I never really considered blood politics in Hogwarts. In Gryffindor, it doesn’t really matter.”

Astonished at this, Maia took another sip of her drink so she wouldn’t comment and say something untoward. “Blood politics mean a great deal in Slytherin,” she murmured, looking up at him with her bright blue eyes. “However, I’m sure you’re aware of this.”

He carefully reached out for her and their fingers interlinked, just the tips, their palms pressed to the tables, not enough to earn a twinge form her overly sensitive vined ring. “You know I’m an Auror.”

“And you know I take a very different opinion on the war,” she told him carefully, “though I would never wish you harm.” She sat up and then looked at him pointedly, “I can tell you that nothing is happening in Somersetshire this afternoon. I checked.”

He looked at her carefully. “You’re able to check.” There was doubt in his voice, but she honestly didn’t blame him. 

“I wouldn’t want to get caught in the crossfire,” she told him plainly. “Would you?”

“No,” he answered carefully, “but I’d rather help people and be where I’m needed than ignore them.”

The familiar taste of an argument coated her tongue, and Maia quickly took a sip of her drink. It did nothing to wash the taste away, however, only making it more cloying. “I’m not ignoring anyone. I just know that nothing is happening here.” To emphasize her point, she placed her pointer finger perpendicular to the table. Of course, it wasn’t quite the truth, but she wasn’t going to tell an auror that, even if he might be her boyfriend.

A waitress came by to take their orders, and Maia frankly hadn’t even looked at the menu. James seemed relieved at the interruption, and they quickly decided on each getting fish and chips as Someset was on the coast so the fish was bound to be decent.

“Darling,” he murmured once the waitress had gone, “let’s not quarrel.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Being at war is a horrible time. Lines are drawn in the sand.”

“And yet you’re on one side and I’m on the other,” he noted sadly. “Your eyes show absolutely no malice though.”

“What would I have to be malicious about?” she asked in confusion. “I harm no one” (except for the occasional Muggle) “I hate no one” (except for Lily Snape—that was a story).

Lily Evans, briefly Lily Potter, had gone and shacked up with half-blood Severus Snape—whom Maia knew by sight. He was sometimes at the Manor, speaking with her Uncle Marvolo or with other Death Eaters. Lily had taken his name, as if they were married. There were even rumors of a Muggle marriage ceremony, which would never hold up to magical laws. She might legally, according to the Greater of the two Britains, become Mrs. Snape—but everyone in wizerdom would know the truth. She was nothing but a whore. 

“I do my part for wizarding society,” she concluded. “I just believe our world would be better without Muggle influences.”

He looked at her, askance.

“Wouldn’t the world be better without Lily Snape?” she questioned him sincerely. “Wouldn’t it have been better if you had never met her at Hogwarts—if you had never ‘dated’ her—if you had never taken her to wife? What is she but one large Muggle influence with her hair flowing down her back like a—” She bit her lip before she was indiscreet. “We purebloods tend to avoid baiting half-bloods and perhaps Muggleborns, but she had no right to stop you in a pureblood rite like that when you strung up Severus Snape for being a half-blood!” All this was said quietly, in a perfectly even tone, and James looked absolutely shell shocked.

Finally, looking into his pint, he admitted, “I wish she had never come to Hogwarts.”

“Exactly,” she told him. 

“My friend Peter’s a Muggle-born,” James stated carefully, “I know you’ve never met him, and I’ve chosen to keep you apart to respect your beliefs—” His voice trailed off. “I would never wish him gone.”

“Peter?” she questioned, and he looked at her.

“Peter Pettigrew.”

At this, she outright laughed and was laughing so hard that she almost upset her drink. “James,” she stated carefully when she got control of herself, “he’s a low-level Death Eater. I’ve seen him about. He bows to me in the most outrageous fashion. I wouldn’t be surprised—” And she pursed her lips in thought. “James, how do you feel like going to a raid without actually doing anything to stop it?”

He looked at her in shock. “No, Maia,” James stated clearly. “No.”

“It’s the only way I can prove to you that Peter Pettigrew is a dark wizard despite being a Muggle-born, though that explains so much.” She sucked in a breath between her teeth. “I’d never be friends with such a nasty little rat, even if he were a pureblood.”

James’s eyes went wide. “How did you know?”

“Know what?” she asked, utterly confused, and the two just looked at one another, neither willing to speak.

Then their food came and Maia realized she’d already consumed half her shandy. Perhaps going on a date with Potter had been a bad idea and she should have given him an ultimatum to read Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties, c. 1500-present.

Still, when she arrived back in the manor in a swirl of robes, her hand was still tingling from where James Potter had kissed the scar that had been inflicted. Maia was playing a dangerous game, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop.

**2019/01/05**


	9. Part the Ninth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric meets the Dark Lord ... in less than desirable circumstances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have seen the question if this is a fem!Harry story or not since Harry is, well, in it.
> 
> It began as a fem!Harry story (Harry/Hallie - you can see how similar they are phonetically), and then turned into a wrong!bwl fic with Harry and Hallie being "half-twins."
> 
> Harry is the son of Lily Snape and, supposedly, James Potter.  
> Hallie is the daughter of Maia Gaunt and (definitely) James Potter.  
> They were born on the same day, on the same exact minute, despite having different mothers.  
> They both have curse scars. The question is, why?

_Halcyone and Voldemort, 3 September, 1996_

The Dark Lord was displeased. When Barty had reported back to him, he had been informed that Lady Mabelle had been with Cedric Diggory. Auror Cedric Diggory. He understood from Marvolo’s notes that she had gone to a party with Diggory. There was some connection between them even if Lady Mabelle had sent him off when Barty had appeared and hadn’t fought with him against the Dark Lord’s Death Eaters.

It was easy enough to capture Diggory nonetheless.

He may be an auror, but he was still an idiot and had a routine. Anyone with a routine was easy to snatch. You just had to study them and learn their weaknesses. Everyone had a weakness, not that the Dark Lord liked to admit his.

He was sitting in Lady Mabelle’s room in the manor, noting the small changes she had made to it. The flowers he had sent her were still in a vase to the left of the bed. There was a photograph of the beautiful Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt and Draco Malfoy. He was sitting cross-legged on the paved stones of what seemed to be the Hogwarts courtyard and she was behind him, crouching down, her arms around his neck and her chin slotted over his shoulder. It was obvious how much they cared for one another. At least it was only platonic.

There was another photograph of the four friends—Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Mabelle Halcyone herself. This was one was taken at the Three Broomsticks, the four sitting around a table, the young wizards on the outside with the witches on the inside of the booth.

Assuredly either Mademoiselle Pansy or Signor Blaise had taken the first of the two photographs. However, who took the second? 

The four young wizards had butterbeers in front of them, holding them up in salute, but not high enough to obstruct their faces. They were all in casual wizarding robes. Lady Mabelle’s was a rather poor showing compared to the other three’s but he understood before she was placed in their cousin’s protection, she had little to no money for such niceties. At least they were clean and well kept up and in a modern cut if not strictly fashionable.

It pleased him that these were the only two photographs—that the Muggle relatives appeared nowhere. That the insipid auror was not showcased.

Diggory was a puffed up auror who could give her nothing but danger, long hours, and little money. Draco Malfoy could give her the title of ‘Lady Malfoy’ upon the death of his father, a vast estate in England, countless properties across Europe, and more material wealth than she could probably imagine. Signor Blaise Zabini was an unknown. However, he was foreign and his mother was known as the ’Black Widow’ because she married wealthy men who ended up dead.

The Dark Lord, in contrast, had an inordinate amount of wealth at his disposal. With his position came devotion, and many wizards left him money and properties in their will. Where once he had been a poor orphan (like Lady Mabelle), now he was one of the wealthiest wizards in Eurasia. He could give her love and fidelity, but he could only ever give her a half-life. When he went into a deep sleep, she would be without her husband, if he was ever so fortunate enough to convince her to marry him. Potentially missing birthdays and anniversaries and moments of note, he would leave the enchanting Halcyone with only her uncle for protection. The thought sickened him but there was nothing he could do.

A chime went off from his wand, telling him that the prisoner had been put in one of the interrogation rooms.

His red robes secured about his shoulders, he swept from the room, taking one last sniff of the air to breathe in the heady aroma of roses and Lady Mabelle’s personal perfume.

The interrogation rooms were, naturally, near the cells, far in the dungeons. Magic had to recognize you to allow you into each and every individual room. It was magic that kept prisoners within spaces, not bars. They were more refined here at Riddle House. 

Lady Mabelle had been here for over a month and she had never even found the door that led from the kitchens to the dungeons, and she was an extremely powerful witch. Her magic practically bled from the breath she expelled from her lungs.

Auror Cedric Diggory was a handsome boy—and a boy was all he was. Despite his chiseled features, there was a certain unfinished quality to his face. His hair was dark, but not so dark as to be attractive. It was almost a nondescript color. His gray eyes were darting around, looking about the room for any possible avenue of escape.

There was none.

The Dark Lord had materialized from the wall and only his magical signature could rematerialize out of the room. The room was hung with tapestries of unicorn hunting, something that would disturb any wizard of lesser than the blackest orientation. 

The auror’s hands were laid flat on the table, held there by magic. He was unable to move far from the table, although he was obviously struggling to free his hands from their magical binds. It was a wonder he hadn’t overturned his seat yet.

Rotating his finger in the air, the Dark Lord made the candles flare to life so he could see the boy better. Oh, yes. He was wearing auror robes. How quaint. It was a wonder his niece Lady Maia had ever found them attractive in that Potter fellow.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

The boy paused and looked up, his gray eyes startled as if he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. Licking his lips, he murmured, “You’re You-Know-Who.”

“No,” he disagreed. “I don’t know who. Who am I?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Diggory stated, trying again, his gray eyes flashing, his voice a little stronger. “You’re He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.”

Well, that was answer enough, the Dark Lord supposed. “Good,” he decided. “Do you know why you are here, little auror?” He hoped that angered Diggory—and it seemed to work.

Gritting his teeth in obvious frustration, Diggory didn’t answer.

Triggering his finger, the Dark Lord delighted in the sound of a whip that resounded in the room and the hiss that escaped Diggory’s lips. There would be a nice lash mark across his back, if the Dark Lord cared to check later on. He was certain, however, that there would be others.

It was a light torture that he favored as it reminded him of a certain Muggle two thousand years ago, but the subtlety was often lost on wizards.

“Do you know why you are here?” the Dark Lord asked again carefully, his voice low and annunciated. The candles burned brightly before dimming again and Diggory looked around wildly. Clearly he was impressed with parlor tricks. What a shame. The standards of auror recruitment had clearly gone down.

“I’m an auror—” Diggory began and the Dark Lord motioned that he should continue. “You’re You-Know-Who.” 

All right, the Dark Lord could see the logic in that, but he wanted a bit more. “Elaborate, Auror Diggory. I am—hanging—off of your every—single—word.” The mocking tones fell off of his tongue, playing with this child, but he was enjoying it.

Once again, it was lost on Diggory. He seemed to take what the Dark Lord was saying seriously. At least he had respect for the Dark Lord’s position, if nothing else. “I have a tendency to capture and sometimes kill your supporters,” he grit out angrily, trying to stand from the chair, but his hands remained pressed to the desk and he fell down and hit his chin. 

That had to hurt. Not that the Dark Lord cared.

Moving about the room and not even bothering to look at the young man, he stated, “No, there are many aurors. I wouldn’t even say you’re a particularly good one. You didn’t come to my attention until that party in Ottery-St.-Catchpole where, I may add, you didn’t manage to do more than cause one Death Eater to need a healing potion.” The Dark Lord tsked, looking at the boy now. “I was quite unimpressed.” That was a drawl of boredom. He wanted to see if Diggory picked that up.

No such luck.

A look of sheer horror fell over Diggory’s face. He seemed to realize it then. “Potter.”

“Lady Mabelle,” he corrected in the deathly quiet that followed. “Lady Mabelle Halcyone, if you like.”

This seemed to catch Diggory’s attention. “Yes, I’ve heard all this nonsense about her being a Gaunt. She says she’s living with a cousin now. That Gaunts take their mother’s names to keep the blood pure. It’s ridiculous.” His hands, however, were quivering. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. His wrists were quivering. His fingers and palm were stuck to the table and completely unmoving.

The Dark Lord walked around the table Diggory was crouched over. 

The chair was pushed over too far for Diggory to even reach it with his legs if he managed to pull off that particular maneuver.

Letting his long, thin, pale fingers trail over the top of the wood, the nails glinting in the candlelight, the ruffled cuff falling over his hand, a starched white, the Dark Lord looked at Diggory. He noticed that the sight had caught the boy’s attention, perhaps it was the only movement in the room. “You called Lady Mabelle your ‘girlfriend’ in front of certain wizards with Ministry connections a few weeks later,” he sighed, not exactly a question.

“And how do you know that?” Diggory asked, his voice a little uncertain. His gray eyes looked up in fear. “There weren’t any Death Eaters there.”

Of course, the Dark Lord didn’t correct his misbelief. “What is important is that I know. You called Lady Mabelle your girlfriend—which she refuted—but you still had that mistaken assumption.”

Grinding his teeth, Diggory tried to lift his hands and only got Marvolo flicking his finger toward his neck. A thin, bleeding line as if he had been hit with a cane appeared on Diggory’s skin, and the boy gasped in pain. Unable to put a hand up to the bleeding skin, he crumpled into himself, trying to hide his neck into his shoulder. It really was pathetic.

“You invite a Lady of high standing to a party, and during a Death Eater raid she disappears and you don’t contact even a relative for a week—and you assume she is your girlfriend.” The Dark Lord pressed his thin lips together. “I would say the error is entirely on your side. The question is—what are you prepared to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Diggory begged. “She sent me packing when she received those strange red roses. She’s clearly been playing the field.”

The Dark Lord flicked his finger again and there was another snap in the cold air. The accompanying hiss was a balm to his soul.

“Before,” the Dark Lord began, “before Lady Mabelle got her vined ring this summer, did you ever kiss her?” He lifted his finger, ready to bestow the same punishment of the phantom whip.

“No,” Diggory gasped and the Dark Lord looked at him casually, wondering what he was objecting to—the punishment, or a kiss. “I’ve been wearing one since—well—since I was sixteen.—Potter was thirteen—” There was a whip to his cheek and Diggory gasped. “Lady Halcyone,” he amended. “Lady Mabelle Halcyone was thirteen.”

“I see,” the Dark Lord murmured, turning toward the wall and taking in a deep breath. “Are you in love with Lady Mabelle? Tell me truthfully, Auror Diggory.” Then again, the boy really didn’t have a chance. He hadn’t been slipped with Veritaserum that would have been too obvious, but a diluted version of it, which would make him feel compelled to tell the truth. It was untraceable. Diggory would want to tell him, and wouldn’t even know that he wanted to. He would just—tell him out of the supposed goodness of his soul.

Diggory looked down at his hands and they flicked back and forth wildly. “I can’t get enough of her—even when she’s so infuriating. Watching her cheer for Malfoy at Quidditch was like taking a bezoar to the gut.” (What an odd expression, the Dark Lord thought.) “I was just waiting for her to grow up. She was always such a beautiful witch. She’s only grown more beautiful. I didn’t even care in the end that she was a half-blood. I was willing to fight for her. Sometimes it’s difficult to believe she’s remotely related to Mrs. Snape, the two look nothing like each other.” His voice petered out into nothing.

“That’s because, you stupid boy,” the Dark Lord told him, lifting his chin up with one of his death pale fingers, “she’s the daughter of my niece, Lady Maia Gaunt.”

A small gasp escaped Diggory’s lips and the Dark Lord shoved him away, knowing how painful it would be given his hands.

“I know she would have told you.”

“Orphans say anything—” he breathed.

“This orphan,” the Dark Lord stated casually, “was telling the complete truth.” The lace cuffs dangled over his knuckles, creating a teasing sensation, but he did not let his expression alter in the least. “You understand that it is over. She says it is over. I, her nearest relative along with Lord Marvolo, say it is over. Do you understand, boy?”

“Yes,” Diggory whispered.

“It has been over since it began.”

Flinching, Diggory stared solemnly down at his hands and murmured, “Yes.”

“There will be no more personal invitations. If you feel the need to have her present at a gathering—find some witch to invite her. Am—I—understood?” The Dark Lord’s magic snapped around him, causing Diggory to groan from his place at the table as lash marks appeared on both of his cheeks, blood tearing from them. 

“Yes, I understand.” His voice was little more than a rasp now.

“You will not write her. You will not contact her. She is a Gaunt and far above you and her hand is now spoken for in marriage—am I rightly understood?”

At this Diggory’s eyes blazed up, despite the blood sliding down his cheeks and neck. “Why is it you interrogating me?” he asked, his voice a little shaky despite its firmness. “Why not Lord Marvolo?”

He laughed a little too himself, at the blindness of this boy. The Dark Lord continued to walk about the room, only pausing to look at the black onyx vined ring on his middle finger, the ring he was wearing for Mabelle, the ring that only she would be allowed past once they had said their vows.

“I desired the pleasure,” was all he answered, heading to the wall that served as a door, Diggory looking after him. “Remember my words, Auror. Remember exactly who Lady Mabelle is.”

Just as he was about to step through the tapestry, Diggory’s voice spat out: “Her father was an Auror.”

“An oversight,” the Dark Lord confessed, “on the part of her mother, the inestimable dark witch, Lady Maia Gaunt. If you’re trying to say that her mother loved an auror and so my niece may as well, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. She’s as good as stated her intentions to Lord Marvolo. There is, of course, the option of changing her mind,” (he didn’t like this idea in the least) “but Lady Mabelle knows devotion and a good match when she sees one.—And it is not you.”

“Is this her line drawn in the sand?” Diggory asked, finally sounding defeated.

The Dark Lord paused and looked over his shoulder. “Why, yes. I do believe this might be.” Then he swept from the cell to allow his followers to properly bash him up and then dump him outside the ministry just before the morning rush.

… … … … …

Hermione Granger was the oddest creature, Hallie thought. She never associated with her, however, she was compiling a descriptive list of all the vined rings in their year. Perhaps it was because she never had one.

She managed to get permission from Dumbledore, of all people. She had a signed note and was coming around individual house tables during dessert. The little Mudblood—and, yes, Hallie had always hated Muggleborns since she had first believed she was one and sorted into Slytherin of all places before she learned the ‘partial’ truth of Lily Snape and James Potter, as told to her by Professor Snape her first night there, with everyone there to listen—had a list of names and was going through them alphabetically. She was in the F’s and Hallie was hoping that Granger wouldn’t get to the G’s until tomorrow. 

The Slytherins and Gryffindors hadn’t shared any classes yet. Hallie was just waiting for her half-brother to be all over her about her name change. He hadn’t picked up at it at the party.

No such luck with the alphabet, though, it seemed.

In her bossy look, her bushy hair all around her face, Hermione Granger called out, “Mabelle Gaunt.”

Raising her hand in mock deference, Hallie called, “Present, Professor Granger!”

The Gryffindor looked around, clearly searching for her, and then landed on her. “Potter?”

“It’s Gaunt,” she refuted. “Lady Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt.” Her voice was firm but polite and she turned to Draco with a smile on her face, which he returned with a self-satisfied grin.

“What’s wrong, Granger?” he asked her, his turn not having come up yet. “Do you honestly think that the Malfoys would associate with anyone but purebloods? Gaunt is Sacred Twenty-Eight! We’ve known for years!” 

She smirked, just for effect. “You want to see my vined ring as proof?” She extended her left hand to show an elaborate rose gold ring that cost more than perhaps the past three rings combined. It began with a single rose gold band with several white diamonds pressed into the band—she hadn’t counted—then another band was stacked on it that curled upward to press to the top of a large flower-shaped diamond. The band thickened just around the diamond to form two leaves on either side. Another leaf-shaped design was on the back side of the ring, which supported another band which followed similar double pattern, a single band around the finger, a band stacked on top of it that curled upward with the leaf pattern to showcase a diamond. At this point the rose gold bands, still pressed with diamonds, left the knuckle free, only to continue the pattern with two smaller diamonds at the top half of the finger, ending with a rose gold band just beneath the nail. “Seven hundred and nineteen galleons,” she told Granger as the girl just stared in wonder. “It was designed specifically for me.” 

Hallie felt a protective arm come around her waist and realize that Draco was right there beside her. “You see,” she continued, “Alcyone—a variant of Halcyone—is a Pleiades, a star. The Pumpkin Carriage wanted to honor that, especially since my mother was Lady Maia Gaunt, another Pleiades.”

Granger was now hastily writing this down and was calling another Mudblood over with sandy blond hair. He was in Gryffindor, Hallie thought, and he unfortunately had a camera. 

Pausing, Granger asked, “Why did The Pumpkin Carriage design you one specifically—especially one so elaborate, Gaunt?”

Hallie pursed her lips, but it was only to be expected. This was Hogwarts. Here she was “Gaunt” and “Miss Gaunt”. Some people were still calling her “Potter” even though before each class she was going in front of the class and reintroducing herself.

Fortunately, it was Draco who answered. “I would imagine it is who her Cousin is.”

Which one? Hallie wondered. At the time she hadn’t questioned it.

“Is he one of the four Lords?” Granger asked eagerly.

“He’s one better,” Draco answered smugly. “He’s the Dark Lord.”

A hush fell over the Slytherin table and Granger looked absolutely gobsmacked. Then, all of a sudden, people were taking out money pouches and galleons and the occasional sickle were exchanging hands all along the row.

It took exactly forty-five seconds for a Ravenclaw to rush over and ask Hallie hurriedly. “Is it the bet on your cousin?”

“Yes,” Draco sneered. “Lord Marvolo Gaunt and the Dark Lord. It’s just been confirmed.”

The boy, with gold eyes almost like a werewolf’s and silver hair, squeaked and rushed over to the Ravenclaw table and soon whispers were spreading down it and money was exchanging hands there.

Hallie looked on in absolute shock. “People were taking bets on that?”

“Gaunt is Sacred Twenty-Eight and the Dark Lord’s identity, while somewhat shrouded in mystery, is not completely a secret. Your mother’s connection to him was well-known,” Draco explained. He smirked at her. “Think of it, you might become more infamous than your own half-brother!”

“By association,” she groused. Hallie was just about to turn back to Granger, who was still staring at her in shock, when Dumbledore stood:

“Enough!” he roared, staring out at the students. Casting a Sonorus on himself, he stated clearly, “I do not know what has caused this bizarre display of gambling, but I will not tolerate it. You will cease and desist this instant—and all discussion of the subject is now over. Back to your Common Rooms!” He paused and everyone stood from their benches, a clear scraping sound on the floor, “Miss Granger, I request you to come with me.”

The little snitch ran up to him and whispered something and then he roared, “Gaunt! Malfoy!”

The band of three walked up to Dumbledore’s office, Draco glaring at a self-righteous Hermione Granger. Hallie was quiet, her arms crossed, thankful that Draco’s arm had never left her. She wondered what the Dark Lord would say if he knew she was about to have this conversation, if he knew that Draco was escorting her in such a protective way. Frankly, she didn’t care—about the last bit. Draco was like a brother to her.

She had never been in the Headmaster’s office before and she frankly was amazed by the number of portraits of sleeping wizards and the dozens of delicate instruments that were whizzing or puffing out smoke.

“Explain,” Dumbledore stated.

Granger, of course, spoke in a rush. “It was Gaunt. It’s her ring.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” she stated imperiously. “You asked why I was given the privilege of given a custom ring—and we answered. It’s because, most likely, I’m related to the Dark Lord. Some wizards respect him and his power.” That was probably why she got the five hundred galleon discount on it, as well, she thought with a sigh.

“Have you met Voldemort, Miss Gaunt?” Dumbledore asked, his bright blue eyes hard behind his half-moon spectacles.

She felt a tug on her mind, and she immediately broke their eye contact and glanced at Draco, begging him with her eyes to realize something was wrong.

He tilted his eyes and pulled her closer.

Glancing over Dumbledore’s shoulder, she admitted, “All of England knows. He rescued me from a Death Eater raid. I didn’t know we were related at the time, though I’m sure he realized as soon as I told him my name when I was surrendering.”

“The Pumpkin Carriage,” Draco stated, “is a liberal jeweler”—that was one way to put it—“that respects all walks of magic. They respect the Ministry and all their employees, they respect those who fight the Dark Lord in vigilante groups, they respect the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. It’s not Halcyone’s fault she’s related to him or gains special privileges. When we went, she was offered a custom ring and since she didn’t like any of the ones available, she accepted.”

Dumbledore suddenly looked tired. “What was the passing of money about?”

“It had to do with the fact that I confirmed I was related to the Dark Lord,” she told him. “We’re both Gaunts.”

“I see, Miss Gaunt,” he admitted. Although it looked like it pained him to say it, he admitted, “You may go, Miss Gaunt, Mr. Malfoy. Miss Granger, if you would stay.”

Hallie was never so glad to get out of a place in her life.

When they were finally back in the dungeons, free from portraits, Hallie admitted, “I think he was using Legilimency on me, Draco. I must write Uncle Marvolo—you should write Lord Malfoy. He’s a Governor here.”

Draco grimaced. “We’ll send the owls tonight. I’m sure Blaise will let you use his as I have to use Diana.—Unfortunately, I couldn’t put a bet on the Dark Lord being related to you as I already knew. I could have won a pretty galleon.”

At this, Hallie laughed outright. She needed a little levity. Now, she just had to wonder when she would next see the Dark Lord next.

**Note:**

**719 galleons** = $3,458.21 = 2,166.67 pounds sterling

 **1219 galleons** = $5,858.28 = 3,670.78 pounds sterling

**2019/01/14-2019/01/21**


	10. Part the Tenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An emissary seeks out Hallie, the Potter twins get into a fight, and Hallie sees the Dark Lord again.

_Halcyone and Voldemort, September-October, 1996  
_  
Draco and Hallie were walking through the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, ostensibly on rounds. Hallie’s wizard cross was around her neck. She had never taken it off except to sleep, putting it on carefully each morning.

When they were rounding the corridor, Hallie was surprised to see Lord Roman Malfoy, Draco’s a bit of a wastrel of an uncle. 

“Oh dear,” she greeted despite herself, looking between uncle and nephew. “Isn’t it a little late for official business, Lord Roman?”

Roman Malfoy was a handsome wizard, far more handsome than his older brother Lucius, Lord Malfoy. He had silver blond hair, gray eyes, which seemed to be typical to the Malfoy brothers. However, where Lord Malfoy’s face was pointed, his was less so. His features were softer and yet had an undeniable masculinity to them. Perhaps one could almost say they were hard where Lord Malfoy’s were pointed, and that made him seem almost inherently Masculine. Where his older brother had the physique of a boxer, Lord Roman had the body of a slim swimmer, and he certainly looked attractive in expensive robes. Hallie would never deny it secretly to herself. Simultaneously, she would never admit it to anyone, especially to a single member of the Malfoy family.

“You are beauty itself, Lady Halcyone,” he greeted, bowing as he took her hand which was resting by her side. As he rose from his bow, he lifted her hand to just beneath his lips, never kissing it, before releasing it.

She allowed it to hover politely for the briefest of moments before reclaiming it. 

“How are you, Uncle?” Draco interrupted as silver eyes stared into hazel, an undeniable attraction passing between the two. 

Halcyone figured she needed to watch more Muggle movies with ‘heartthrobs’ to cure herself of noticing just how handsome certain men were. Ever since she was about fourteen—about the time of the Yule Ball—she suddenly started to notice boys. And by boys, it was really men. Fortunately for her, there were virtually none at Hogwarts, and the few there were happened to be unattractive. Professor Snape, case in point. 

Lord Roman turned his attention to Draco, fortunately. “I am well, nephew. I came to inquire from Lady Halcyone when she might have a free period. It seems certain parties wish to know.” His voice was now a purr as he took in Hallie from head—to toe.

“Certain parties?” she questioned. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, if you want me to be forthcoming.”

He breathed out, a smile curving his lip. “A mutual acquaintance.”

“That could be anyone,” she laughed. “Be more specific, or I’m back on my rounds.”

Sighing dramatically, he took out a red notecard from his robes and handed it over. It read, in white ink, Is this proof enough, Lady Mabelle? Well, it seemed that the Dark Lord knew her well.

Handing back the card, he slipped it back into his robes. 

“It does seem we have a mutual friend,” she agreed quietly. “Is there a particular day of the week that is suitable?”

“Thursday,” he drawled.

It was Monday.

“Fourth period,” she answered simply. “I shall be waiting inside the Forbidden Forest, still within sight of Hogwarts, but within the tree line.” Looking at Draco, she waited for his approval, as she had since she was a lost first year and didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. 

He took her hand and squeezed it once to tell her to go.

Turning back to Lord Roman, she nodded once. “Are we agreed?”

“I can’t remember the Hogwarts timetable.”

“Your brother is a governor here,” she laughed as she walked around him without taking leave of him. “I’m sure he can tell you, Lord Roman. Perhaps Draco will inform you.” Hallie was not going to make this easy for him. 

Roman turned toward her and called, “I have something for you.”

“Have him give it to me himself,” she stated without even turning. “I’m on rounds. I want to scare someone.” Heading to a well known closet, she felt Draco come up behind her, undoubtedly smirking if she knew him at all. 

“My uncle watched you walk away.”

“I have far better placed suitors,” she stated. “What is he thinking sending Lord Roman of all people? The man has been half-after me since fourth year.”

“Have you told anyone?” Draco asked. “I haven’t. I doubt Uncle Roman has.”

“It’s a secret then,” she murmured as she came up to the closet and scooted to the opposite side of it. Nodding to Draco as he got into position then, she grabbed the handle and opened it as they shone Lumos spells at the end of their wands only to see—

“Harry?” Hallie asked, looking at her half-brother, who she had always secretly resented. She saw his messy black hair, his green eyes so like Mrs. Snape’s, and the lighting bolt scar that was almost identical to her own. “Who are you—what are you? Harry!”

“Right,” he greeted, coming out with a ginger top who was shorter, curvier, softer, and if she wasn’t mistaken on the Quidditch Team. “This is Ginny.”

“For the sake of fairness,” Hallie decided, “you take points, Draco, and I’ll talk to my wayward brother.”

Harry looked honestly surprised, but he followed her down the hallway. “I thought you renounced Mom and took a new name. Renounced Dad.”

“I never renounced Dad,” she stated carefully as she took in his swollen lips and realized, with the vined ring on her finger, she wouldn’t have that until she was married. The hormonal teenager in her was envious. “I would never renounce Dad. However, we both know that Mrs. Snape is not my mother. I look nothing like her—she never wanted me. She kept you and foisted me off on her sister.”

Stroking his chin, Harry stated carefully, “Why aren’t you a Potter anymore?”

“Right,” she sighed. Hallie and Harry had never had a close relationship, but they were ‘twins’ of a sort, the two Potter siblings, the two—well, Harry shared that they were the Prophecy children as Dumbledore had a habit of talking to him. They also now jointly owned Grimmauld Place together although Hallie had never been there. She’d told Harry to do what he liked with it while they were in school though she, at the time they had last spoken about it, had every intention of moving in after their seventh year. “The Gaunts are all about blood purity.”

He snorted, which really didn’t help.

“You always grew up as a half-blood with magic,” she told him angrily, “who came and visited three or four times a year and kept it a secret from me, your own sister,” she reminded him harshly.

“Right,” he agreed. “Mom said—”

“I don’t care what Mrs. Snape said,” she snapped back. “I didn’t know until my Hogwarts letter, and I was sorted into Slytherin, the land of purebloods, and Draco Malfoy believed in me—believed my surname, believed that Mrs. Snape wasn’t my mother because Professor Snape told everyone that she wasn’t.” She sighed and then took a deep breath. “The Gaunts are all about blood purity and I have known in my heart that I was a pureblood for five years now. My birth certificate, which Sirius gave me—” (Harry’s eyes widened) “—shows that my name is ‘Mabelle Halcyone Gaunt.’ Dad gave me my mother’s name because it means something. I live with my cousin, Lord Marvolo Gaunt, now.”

“The Dark Lord.”

“No,” she refuted. “They’re related, but the Dark Lord is someone else. We’re related. I just don’t know how we have the same pureblood dad by two mothers and were born three days apart. How do we have the same curse scars—”

“From Voldemort,” Harry told her plainly, which was frankly news to her.

“What are you talking about?” she asked in shock. “Yours is from the Dark Lord—mine is—I don’t know—you defeated him.”

Harry carefully came up to her and took her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. They were within half an inch of each other, both reaching five foot ten, in her case, eleven in his. “Hallie,” he told her plainly, “Voldemort came after us because we were the children—or the supposed children,” he amended when she opened her mouth to refute it—”of James and Lily Potter.”

“Your mother is Lily Snape,” she told him plainly. 

“She married my stepfather after Dad died.”

“That’s not true,” she argued. “Well, maybe it is, but Dad was clearly married to Lady Maia Gaunt at the time of his death. I have the marriage certificate in my vault to prove it. I can send for it if you want—They were married in October of 1979. All Hallow’s Eve, when the magic was strongest.”

His bright green eyes, partially hidden by glasses, searched hers. “No,” he refuted. “You’re lying.”

“Do you know what that unhealed scar is on Mrs. Snape’s hand is?” she demanded, grasping his upper arms when he began to pull away. Frankly, she wouldn’t let him now. “It’s the scar from an unconsummated bonding. A failed bonding. They tried to bond—but something disrupted it. I don’t know what, but they were never married, never bonded. It left Dad free to marry my mother. It left your mother free to marry Professor Snape, but they’re not even married if rumor is true!”

It happened so suddenly, Hallie didn’t have time to react. Skin met skin with a loud resounding smack and her head snapped to the side as he slapped her. 

“Don’t speak about my mum—” he began, but then a wand was pressed to his throat.

“Fifty points for assaulting a prefect and fellow student,” Draco hissed, “and detention for a month with a professor of your Head of House’s Choice. I’ll be submitting a report first thing tomorrow if not tonight!”

“She’s my sister and she called my mother a whore!”

“She’s a witch! You never strike a witch!” Draco hissed, defending her honor. 

All the while, Hallie was cradling her cheek and focusing on her breathing. Harry had never been violent toward her before. He and Dudley had gotten in a few scrapes when they were fighting over her. It was like she was a plaything when they were younger—despite the fact that Dudley liked to terrorize her on occasion when they weren’t playing “perfect family”—but he had never. Never. Dudley had never. Neither would have ever laid a hand on her—or so she thought. 

Before she knew it she was stumbling toward Professor Snape’s office. It was always the Slytherins’ habit to go to him when they had a minor (or even major) medical problem. With his potions, he could fix it without there being an official record.

He was no longer Potions Master this year, finally teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, but he was still her ‘Uncle Severus.’ She had called him that since she was a young child of about four or five, and he had always encouraged it, even when he told her that Lily Snape was not her mother and she wasn’t even remotely related to the Dursleys.

As she stumbled in through the door without knocking, she shouldn’t have been remotely surprised to see Mrs. Snape. Of course, she was laid on the desk with her blouse completely unbuttoned and her breasts partially out of her bra. Staring for a second, she immediately fled and ran down the corridor. She nicked into a closet and then pulled out her Invisibility Cloak from her satchel and pulled it over her body just as the door was swung open. 

She was met with the sight of an enraged Professor Snape, his wand out and casting a Lumos charm. His face was flushed, his trousers hastily done up, and she fought to slow her breath. His greasy black hair was mussed up and his hooked nose was in stark relief.

Seriously, had either he or Lily Snape heard of a locking charm?

Her cheek throbbed. There must have been some accidental magic pushed into the slap as she could feel it blistering.

The door finally closing, Hallie wished she had some way to know if Professor Snape had left. She waited a good hour before finally emerging under the invisibility cloak and going to the matron. She only took the cloak off two corridors away from the Hospital Wing. 

She spent the night with a pink paste on her face. Hallie refused to say what had happened to her, though it was pretty obvious. There was a large hand print on her face and there would be a report from Draco by next morning at the latest.

Falling into a fitful sleep, she wasn’t at all surprised to find Draco sleeping in a chair beside her bed the next morning. His hair was all mussed up, no longer gelled back, and he was still in his Hogwarts uniform from the night before.

When he woke up about twenty minutes later, he immediately grabbed her hand. “Halcyone,” he sighed, taking her in. “Your face.”

“Some form of accidental magic. Teaches me right to insult my own stepmother. Does she count as my stepmother if she might have possibly had an affair with my father? I’m still convinced there’s another explanation.”

He kissed her hand in affection and her ring twinged. By the grimace on his face, so did his. 

“Put up a privacy spell,” she whispered, knowing that her wand was in her satchel, which was on the floor and she couldn’t quite reach it. 

Draco pulled out his wand and did as she asked.

“I ran to Professor Snape last night—and the door wasn’t locked. Mrs. Snape was lying on the desk—partially naked. I mean, I know they have a sex life. They have their son other than Harry—Clemens,” she stated his name with derision. The child was a third year Slytherin and the four friends—Draco, Hallie, Pansy, and Blaise—completely ignored him and everyone who wanted Draco to favor him (and now Hallie given that she was related to the Dark Lord) did the same. “I had to hide for over an hour.” She flicked her eyes to her satchel and his gaze followed her.

He nodded to show he understood.

“I never want to see her naked breasts again,” she whined.

He ran a hand over her hairline as it was still partially up despite sleeping on it. “Hush. It’s over now and I’m sure your face will be as good as new. When McGonagall hears of this—and I told Madam Pomfrey to submit the report of this to her—Potter will be in trouble.”

“Let’s hope. If I’m not beautiful by fourth period Thursday—” She bit her lip.

Draco laughed a little sadly. “There’s always Uncle Roman.”

“He does everything to get around that vined ring,” she stated sardonically. “One fears what he’ll do after marriage.—Not that I would dream of criticizing any relative of yours except when it regards how he might treat me.”

“Never!” Draco agreed. “Still, I would like an aunt—though it would be strange if it were you.”

“Yes, it would,” she agreed, not that she hadn’t thought about it.

She was in the hospital for half the day and when the paste finally came off, she still had an angry slap mark on her face, which she was told would remain for the better part of a month.

“Do not wear cosmetics of any kind,” Madam Pomfrey warned. “It will only irritate it and make the recovery time longer. I’ve informed Professor Slughorn of the situation and he will be brewing some salve for you to put on each night. Go visit him directly after dinner before you return to your Common Room and he’ll have the first batch.”

She nodded and put down the mirror she was holding. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” she murmured, knowing there was no way she could hide the mark with her hair and still embody Pureblood modesty. 

It was, of course, all over the school. The Potter siblings had gotten into a fight and Harry Potter had injured Halcyone Gaunt—but no one knew what they had fought about. The primary theory had been the Dark Lord. Everyone knew that Harry Potter was the Chosen One, and his own ‘half-twin’ as they were being called was the Dark Lord’s cousin and supposedly in contact.

Still, he got detention every day for a month with Professor Sinistra, which was an interesting choice. Hallie wondered what the detentions would comprise of.

When Thursday came, Hallie took extra care with her appearance even though she had a stark handprint on her face. She came down for breakfast and Draco stood up from his chair and clapped for her and soon everyone was doing the same, although Hallie doubted they knew why. 

At the end of third period, she dipped into an alcove and put on her Invisibility Cloak and fell in line with a row of third years, which included her—not quite step sibling—Clemens Snape, on their way to Care of Magical Creatures, but then continued into the Forbidden Forest.

She took off the cloak when she was far enough in but could still see the castle. Looking around for the familiar red, her eyes pierced the trees until he emerged from behind a large oak, motioning her forward. Hallie glanced behind her and then made her way toward him. 

His hand reached up and was placed gently on her uninjured cheek and he leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes closing. “I am sorry for this,” he whispered.

“It is not your fault,” she murmured.

“The rumors—” he refuted.

“We were arguing over our parentage,” she told him. “You are only to blame in that you are a Gaunt and are family and not related to Lily Snape.”

He sighed, his deep crimson robes fluttering in the wind that whistled through the trees. “You know.”

“I was upset,” she admitted, reaching up and letting her fingers curl around his cuffs that were clean with cufflinks in gold. “I was afraid—” Hallie let her words hang, not voicing her fears, fears so great they sometimes almost choked her in the night.

He opened his slits of eyes, a shining pale blue. “What were you afraid of, Lady Mabelle?”

“It’s just,” she admitted, moving away slightly, to give herself more space to think. “I know that Gaunts marry Gaunts. I know what roses mean—it doesn’t have to be red roses, but it has to be flowers as the first courtship gift. I don’t think it’s a coincidence. And you’re a Gaunt. I’m a Gaunt.—It—” She hesitated. “It is true that I am Sacred Twenty-Eight. I will have to get used to that. I will have to get used to being courted for that. However, we intermarry. I’m aware of that. I’ve seen the convoluted family tree. I admit I was surprised that Cousin Marvolo didn’t marry my mother.”

“No, he didn’t,” the Dark Lord laughed. “Such a thought never would have occurred to him. He doesn’t believe in marriage, as in regards to himself.”

She took a step forward, swallowing her pride. “But it has occurred to you.”

“I first heard of you as a Gaunt,” he admitted carefully, “and that intrigued me. However, as soon as you rolled out that window I wanted to know the witch who showed such cunning and such self-preservation. I wanted to become acquainted with the woman who embodied everything a Slytherin should be, but so rarely was. I did not respond to you at first not because I did not care, Lady Mabelle, but because I was both impressed and struck dumb.” He walked up to her and cupped the good side of her face again. “I would kiss you if I could.”

“I want to be kissed,” she admitted, her eyes slanting away from him. “I would never—of course.”

“Of course,” he concurred. “We are slaves to a society that prizes fidelity above all else—and I would be faithful to the girl who I sent roses to—and gave this humble gift to.” He reached into his robes, showing a gold waistcoat with red and black vines climbing it, eating each other, and so utterly wonderful and horrible at the same time. Somehow it made her sick. The Dark Lord produced the signature orange box from the Pumpkin Carriage.

Hallie took it hesitantly and undid the brown ribbon and opened it to show a rose gold necklace in it. It had several small wizard crosses on it, interchanged with diamonds. Gasping, she looked up at him, wishing the gift were from anyone but him.

“It’s for more formal occasions than the one I understand you always wear—a birthday gift from your dearest friend, Heir Draco, I believe.” He picked it up from the bed of brown velvet it was resting on and went behind her, placing it around her neck and securing it. It was a choker and a perfect fit. Next, he conjured a mirror and presented it to her. 

Hallie looked at her reflection and admired it, turning her head from side to side and then lifting her chin. 

The Dark Lord took the box from her hand and whispered, “Place the ring beside it.”

When she did, she gasped. The diamonds were the exact size and shape as the four main diamonds on her ring. 

“I asked the primary jeweler who designed and crafted your ring to design this for you.—It’s insured, of course, under your name.”

Lowering the mirror, she threw herself in his arms, clearly surprising him, hiding herself away from the world. “This is a beautiful and thoughtful gift,” she whispered into his ear. “You’re opening up a world for me I didn’t even think was possible.” Holding him closer, she buried her smooth cheek into his shoulder, and he placed his hand at the back of her curls that were pinned into an elaborate twist.

It turned out he had brought a blanket and a picnic tea for them, which she found endearing as she ate clotted cream and strawberry sandwiches on lemon bread with earl grey tea in thermoses. “Have you ever been to Riddle House?” she asked as she drank from the top of her thermos. “It’s just—you’re a Gaunt, too.”

“I have,” he agreed. “I saw where you put your flowers when I asked Lord Marvolo. I thought they might be difficult to take on the train.”

Her eyes widening at the thought of him in her room, she finally agreed: “Yes, I couldn’t manage them with my cat and my trunk. I also didn’t want to answer anymore questions from my half-brother than I already would have.”

The Dark Lord paused, as if considering. “I understand how important family is, especially as you are an orphan, but how close are you to Harry Potter? I know that you were with him at the Department of Mysteries.”

She blinked at him. “How could you possibly know that? Dumbledore got me out before you showed up, though he was not kind enough to Harry or any of the others.”

“Dumbledore,” the Dark Lord told her carefully, “is afraid of you.”

“He is not—” she began, but the Dark Lord gave her a quelling look.

“He is,” he stated quite firmly. “You think I do not know the old man by now? I know that I gave only one of the Potter half-twins a curse scar on their head—and yet you both carry them. He knows that you share a father, and yet have different mothers, but you share a birthday, which is a near impossibility. He knows that you have two separate mothers who each named Sirius Black as your godfather without your father’s input—”

“How do you—?” But once again, he gave her a look.

“He knows that I am destined to hate one of you, and he’s afraid what that means for the other. Will I hate the other, or will I love the other instead? And which one is which?”

The thing is, they both knew the answer to that.

**2019/01/21  
**


	11. Part the Eleventh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Maia ...

_James and Maia, 31 August, 1979  
_  
There was a particular reason Lady Maia Gaunt had chosen Heir Regulus Black, Monsieur Barty Crouch, and Madamoiselle Apricot Selwyn. They were all the same year (Apricot was technically in the age group above, having been born in early August, but her mother held her back a year), all in Slytherin (except for Barty, but he was as good as, as far as Maia was concerned), they all had the trace taken off of their wands, and they all loved to Muggle bait with each other.

It was the last day before Hogwarts and Maia was all packed. The only thing left was her owl—an unusually large Xenoglaux loweryi—whom she had named Eros after the Greek god of Love. The cage was cleaned to precision, open, and she had instructed the beautiful creature to be back by nine in the morning.

Apricot was sitting on the bed, dressed as a Muggle—approximately. She was usually a quiet girl with deep brown waves of hair that she liked to highlight in her hairstyles, brown eyes, and freckled skin. She was a petite witch with absolutely no curves, almost like a child in that way, but her eyes were harsh and dangerous.

Barty, with his sandy hair and gray eyes, was sitting in one of the armchairs in the sitting area. He was swinging his wand from side to side. “Pater still doesn’t know who your uncle is,” he laughed. “I told him ‘Lord’ and he shut me up and sent me on my way.”

“Well,” Regulus responded as he took the other armchair, which was a deep crimson and white, which Maia suspected the Dark Lord had had some say in when she was first brought to Riddle House and given a room, “You’re also with an ‘Heir.’”

“Well,” Barty agreed with an exaggerated pause. “He knows Lord Black is a ‘bad sort’ as he would say. He suspects the Blacks as being involved in the Takeover.”

“Of course, they’re involved in the Takeover,” Apricot stated with her smooth voice, rich like caramel that made Barty shiver when he heard it. If Maia wasn’t much mistaken, he was secretly sweet on her.—Not that his father would ever allow him to associate with a Selwyn, even if they were Sacred Twenty-Eight. “Your father should know that given that his own mother is Charis Black.”

“Darling,” he cooed, looking up into her dark chocolate eyes, “it flatters me that you know that.”

Regulus and Maia shared a smirk as Maia came over and perched herself on the tip of Regulus’s chair. 

“A pity,” Regulus stated, “that we couldn’t invite our dear friends, my brother and Potter. Sadly, they don’t understand the finer pleasures in life.”

At this Maia laughed into her hand. “Can you see Auror Potter Muggle baiting?” she asked. Then she sobered, “It would make everything so much easier.”

Apricot finally removed herself from the bed and came up to her friend, taking her hands in hers and kissing them. “This is a good thing, a positive development,” she stated quietly. “He’s moving away from that horrid Mudblood. He noticed you.”

“But he’s not a member of the SlugClub,” she sighed. “He was Head Boy, at least, and Captain of the Quidditch Team—but he doesn’t follow our blood politics. Uncle Marvolo won’t even let me see him. I have to sneak out and even when I do, we fight half the time.”

“But he keeps coming back,” Regulus pointed out. “He never sends you away.”

“No,” she agreed, catching her reflection in the mirror. She sadly wasn’t quite pretty unlike the enchanting Lily Evans. “Sometimes I’m afraid I’m only a replacement.”

Barty, bless him, declared, “Well,” holding out the syllable. He sat forward. “We can’t have you thinking that. Let’s see how long it takes him to write you at Hogwarts this year. How long it takes Sirius Black,” he spat the name, “to contact his little brother about you. Or Lady Lux Kingsley perhaps, there’s a connection there, and perhaps that’s more likely. They were talking away at a few of our picnics. How many did we have?”

“Seven,” Apricot told him, giving him a small smile. “Seven in eight weeks. It really was quite amazing that Uncle Marvolo never caught on.”

“It’s because we had our little group meetings here and at Grimmauld Place as well,” Regulus stated imperiously, looking around Maia. “We played our hand like true Slytherins—Sorry, Crouch.”

He put up his hands and laughed. “No offense taken.”

“So,” Apricot stated, standing up. “We’re here, you’re wearing those boots,” (she tapped Maia’s gogo boots). “Let’s go off to bait some Muggles. We’ll only have Mudbloods at Hogwarts and there they take points. Here, Lord Marvolo gives us a sip of champagne.”

“He gives us more than a sip,” Regulus refuted as he stood, fixing his Star Wars t-shirt. It made him a little comical but it had been a gift from Sirius of all things two years before and he had kept it as it was useful for Muggle baiting. “Of course, we’re not dressed to be received by his esteemed company.” He then waved his hand and bowed, making the girls laugh and Barty smirk.

They all took their wands and exited the suite, going down the back stairs so as not to really disturb whatever Uncle Marvolo was up to, and then out into the garden.

“Oh, Maia,” Apricot sighed, coming up and taking her arm, one dark head and the other light. “I think the iris and the snowball bush over on the left really are beginning to revitalize your garden.”

Smiling to herself in pride, Maia asked, “Do you think? I was thinking more bushes. Less flowers. Lilacs perhaps next year. A Butterfly bush perhaps, if I can keep it contained.” She surveyed her garden that was beginning to show signs of life after her purge of last year. “The Dark Lord wasn’t pleased with my floral choices. It turned out that Merope Gaunt liked lilies.”

“Who’s Merope Gaunt?” Barty asked in confusion.

“Uncle Marvolo’s mother,” she answered quietly, “and the Dark Lord’s, if rumors are to be believed.” Taking in a deep breath, she pointed forward toward one of the paths. “Onward, wizards!” she called out and they took up the march.

Of course, by the time they got the hamlet of Little Hangleton their wands were stuck up their sleeves or down their boots. They first spent an enjoyable hour drinking pop floats in the pub, cursing the barmaid to think they’d been paid for, and then the real fun began. It started out with giving the old drunk at the bar the shivers. Just down the spine. In the end, they had him convulsing, foam coming out of his mouth, and Apricot was sniggering into her elbow as she tried to keep silent. The agreement they had was they were to keep their cover and act just as horrified and confused as everyone else while creating havoc around them.

There were such things called appearances, after all. 

When people tried to leave to get help, they found all the doors were locked and they couldn’t get out.

By the time the Aurors came—and how did they know to come?—it was mass chaos in the place.

“Time to go,” Regulus shouted and they rushed out toward the back, where they unlocked the door and hurried out into an alley that was deserted except for a lone Auror who had clearly been placed there for the purpose of stopping a potential escape. They all lifted their wands, prepared to do battle, when Regulus lowered his slightly, squinted, and asked, “Potter?”

Maia immediately whipped around and looked at the hooded figure, her stomach dropping. It couldn’t be—No—he would never understand—not yet—

“Is this what you and your friends get up to when you’re not having picnics, Maia?” the familiar voice of James Potter asked from the folds of the hood before he pushed it down to show the smooth face and messy black hair. 

“They won’t remember us,” Apricot stated quickly. “We made sure no one would remember us being there except to drink a few root beer floats and then leaving.—We don’t have to be here, caught. We’re your friends.”

“This is my job,” he refuted, angrily. “Maia—what were you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” she answered quietly, “that they’re beneath us and little better than toys.”

There was a sound coming from the road and James thrust up his wand suddenly. It felt like an egg had been cracked over Maia’s head and then trickled down her neck uncomfortably. When she looked down, she couldn’t tell where she ended and the pub behind her began. She—along with the three others—had been disillusioned.

“Auror Potter,” a thickset man asked. “Anything?”

“No one’s come through,” he answered. “The door is locked from what I can tell, and I’ve kept it that way.” 

The thickset Auror snorted and then turned around to reenter the pub. 

James turned to them and asked, “Where can I find you when this is all over—”

“Uncle Marvolo—” she argued, but he gave the alleyway a hard look she knew was meant for her.

Barty then stepped up. “I’ll invite her over for after dinner. Pater would love having an Auror come to visit.”

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Crouch,” James stated, and Maia was surprised he could recognize him by voice. “I always wondered why you were on Maia’s list when we came up with who to invite to our picnics.” A wry grin crossed his face. He held out his hand and at first Maia didn’t realize he wanted her to place hers in it.

The star scar was covered but she knew it was there. His thumb, rough from Quidditch and Auror duties, rubbed over it as it had so many times before. James didn’t need to see it to know where the scar was. “Go home,” he warned her quietly so the others couldn’t hear him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Maia squeezed his hand and murmured, “Back to base,” before the four disillusioned teenagers all hurried from the alley and back up the hill toward Riddle House.

When they arrived at the gardens, they disillusioned themselves one by one and then stood in a circle, just staring at each other. It was then that Barty broke down and started laughing, hunching over, his hands on his knees as he guffawed and tried to draw breath. Apricot started giggling through her nose and then Maia lost it, falling to her knees and crying in sheer relief, laughs punctuating her sobs. Regulus was the only one who stood tall. 

A Death Eater found them this way and they were brought into the manor and fed chocolate. 

She could hear Barty quietly tell Uncle Marvolo that they had received an owl about a joint report that needed a last flourish—and could she come after dinner?

When her friends all left after the predicted champagne—Uncle Marvolo paced in front of her—“No more Muggle baiting in the village,” he told her quite clearly. “There were Aurors crawling all over Little Hangleton this afternoon. You’re lucky you and your friends didn’t get caught.”

“Why were they there?” she asked, clearly confused. “It’s just—we’re not a hotspot for magic. My friends and I usually wipe the Muggles’ minds clean when we go and bait and this is only our second time—here—this summer. I don’t understand.” Her blue eyes looked at him imploringly.

Uncle Marvolo sighed and drew her to a comfortable couch in front of an empty fire grate. “Maia,” he sighed, running a hand over her hair. “Your uncle—your other uncle—”

“The Dark Lord.”

“He’s been spotted in the area.”

Her eyes widened. “Why hasn’t he been more careful?” she demanded. “The Dark Lord is supposed to be clever.”

“It was my fault,” Uncle Marvolo explained. “I thought I had more time before a deep sleep and ventured out into the graveyard to look at the gravestones of our relatives. I was thinking of the past, of you, our future, and I fell asleep—”

“And the Dark Lord awoke,” she sighed. “At least he wasn’t wearing blood red.” He would have been wearing whatever clothes Uncle Marvolo had. That would be plain black robes. However, the Dark Lord was quite distinctive in his looks. “I’ve never understood how—”

“Don’t,” Uncle Marvolo begged, as he took her face between his hands lovingly. “You’re my little girl and there are some things that are better left unsaid and unexplained.”

Maia didn’t realize she was crying until he began to wipe away the tears with his thumbs.

“None of that now.” He kissed her forehead. “No more Muggle baiting in the village.”

“What if we’re careful?”

“Wait for it all to calm down,” he bargained, his voice firm. “We had a lucky escape. You’re fortunate there was a back door they didn’t know about and that you were able to get away. It could have been more than just a fright, my darling girl.”

“Uncle,” she sighed as she leaned against his touch. “All is well.” At least, she hoped so.

She prayed to the old gods that this was not the end of her relationship with James Potter. 

She loved him, she realized. Maia had loved him for years. 

She loved his stupid pranks. 

She loved his sense of honor. 

She loved his capacity to be loyal beyond all hope, even when it hurt her to see him chasing after the Mudblood Lily Snape for all those years. 

She loved the ridiculous way he messed up his hair and she wished she had the right to run her hands through it and do it for him. 

She loved that he took off those faux glasses for her and how his face had opened up. She loved how he only seemed to own one set of robes despite being a pureblood. 

She loved that he lived on what he earned despite his parents being the famous Fleamont and Euphemia Potter (and, yes, she had looked that up in the Pureblood Registry when Uncle Marvolo was out and the Dark Lord was seeing to—prisoners).

She loved the way he made her smile.

She loved the way he argued with her, the way she argued with him, although they both knew they could never change each other’s minds.

She loved the way he had prepared that first picnic to make her happy.

She loved that he came with her to St. Mungo’s after he kissed her—that she meant that much to him—that he didn’t just abandon her.

She loved watching him in a pickup game with the others once their picnics were finished. She loved watching him play Chaser for Gryffindor (although she always rooted for Slytherin). She wished he would grab her like he did a Quaffle, look into her eyes, and take off with her on a broom into the sky. She loved the sky. She loved the stars. She wanted to share that with James.

She loved him. But she didn’t know if he would ever love her. 

Perhaps tonight she would know.

That night, when she flooed over to the Minister of Magic’s home, she found a little house elf in a pillow case waiting for her. She hated house elfs. They always mangled the English language. Couldn’t they learn to speak properly?

Barty was waiting for her with two tumblers of firewhiskey, lounging in the den as his father was naturally out, and they talked about really nothing at all, until she brought up Apricot.

“I think,” she told him, “you should invite her to Hogsmeade—separately from me and Regulus.” She leaned forward and smiled at him languidly. “Sacred Twenty-Eight. Your father would be proud.”

“She doesn’t perform academically,” he refuted, “she’s nothing to look at—”

She shrugged. “I can’t dispute the first. Her charms work is abysmal, it’s true. She’ll never be a scholar though she had solid OWL scores. Nothing brilliant, but enough.—And we both know that she’ll never be a beauty, but she caught your eye. She’s like a—pixie,” she decided. 

“Pater expects—”

“I don’t care what the Minister expects,” she refuted. “She’s wicked with her wand and she cares about Barty—not the fact that you broke OWL scores—not the fact that you’re a member of the SlugClub—not that you’re Head Boy with me this year—not that you’re the Minister of Magic’s son. She cares about,” and then she tipped her glass toward him, “just Barty.”

A slow smile spread over his freckled face. “She does, doesn’t she?” he said with a pleased grin on his face. 

“Ask her,” she told him. “Ask her tomorrow. And I’d brush up on Selwyn courting traditions in your Spungen’s tonight.”

He scoffed. “You think I didn’t do that Fifth Year.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and then noticed he sat up, his tumbler hanging to the side. Her chair was facing away from the door and she turned to see James standing in his Auror robes with Mrs. Crouch, a sickly woman with dishwater blonde hair and gray eyes in a light blue dress that swallowed her.

“You have a guest—who’s not here on official business,” Mrs. Crouch whispered before clearing her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Auror Potter, Mrs. Crouch,” he responded. “I think very highly of your husband.”

She nodded to him graciously and then left the three of them alone.

“How much did Mater hear?” Barty asked in a strangled voice. “I trust her implicitly, but I need to get my story straight.”

Maia looked at her friend indulgently. “Use the real story. Even go on about our picnics this summer with the entire guest list. Reggie’s a Black and a distant relative, Lady Lux is with you in Ravenclaw, Sirius is explained by both of them, that connects Auror James Potter, who has a position at the Ministry, and well, just throw in me and Mademoiselle Sabrina Bones for local color.”

“Our own little SlugClub of a sorts,” Barty laughed, knocking back his drink and standing. “We just need a new name.” He offered his chair to James who, after a moment, took it. Turning to the decanter of firewhiskey, he then poured James a whiskey and soda before kissing the top of Maia’s head. He tipped his hand to James and then left.

Maia watched him go but then turned to her boyfriend, bringing her own firewhiskey to her lips, her throat smarting at the taste. “You’re not turning us in,” she checked.

“I should,” he told her. “Now, however, it’s your word against mine.”

“I know why you were there,” she answered him carefully. “I asked Uncle Marvolo. The Dark Lord was seen in Little Hangleton’s graveyard sometime this summer.” She bit her lip and looked at him. “It was stupid of him. He—I won’t lie to you, James. The Dark Lord is my uncle. His mother, Merope Gaunt, was my grandfather, Morfin Gaunt’s, sister.”

He stared at her with his hazel eyes but that betrayed nothing. “I see where you get your particular views.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “I’m not very fond of the Dark Lord.” She grimaced. “We don’t see eye to eye on much despite having similar politics.—He—He takes my safety very seriously. He hates you on principle and thinks I don’t see you anymore. Then again, I’ve led Uncle Marvolo to think that, too.”

“Does he live with you—?”

She looked at him hard. “Don’t go fishing, Auror Potter. I’m telling you this because you’re my boyfriend and you matter. If you want to interrogate me, take me down to Headquarters and I will request another Auror because of a ‘conflict of interest’, I think it’s called.”

The two regarded each other for a moment and then he set his tumbler down on a coaster that magically appeared directly beneath it a second before it touched the wood of the side table. “Maia,” he whispered. “We all suspected that the Dark Lord was a Gaunt—”

“Confirm, don’t confirm,” she whispered, looking into her glass and trying to read the future from it. “You didn’t hear it from me.”

The silence that stretched between them was horrible in its resounding deafness, until he whispered into it, “I love you too much to do that to you.”

Immediately, she looked up, her blue eyes searching his. “You—?” she asked hopefully. “Truly?”

He smiled at her wryly. “I would kiss you here, but I’m afraid of what that ring would do to you.”

“Let’s not reenact that lovely scene earlier this summer. I’m afraid Uncle Marvolo would really kill you even if you are in your Auror robes, and poor Barty would get in trouble because it happened in his home. The Minister would get involved—and it would be all one dreadful mess—”

He came forward and knelt in front of her, cupping her cheek, his fingers rough but so very present. “I love you, Maia Gaunt.”

“I love you, James Potter,” she returned carefully.

They stared into each other’s eyes for several long moments until he sat back, took her whiskey out of her fingers, and took her hands in his. “What were you and your friends doing Muggle baiting in Little Hangleton?”

“We enjoy Muggle baiting,” she told him quite simply. “I’m sure you’re aware of the political-social views.”

“I am,” he admitted sadly. “I suppose you want to bring our children up with them.”

At first she didn’t catch it, but then her blue eyes widened. “Our children—children! James, are you asking me?” When he nodded, she threw herself in his arms and began to cry for joy. “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you.”

“First Hogsmeade weekend this October,” he suggested. “I would marry you tonight, but you have to go to Hogwarts in just a few short hours.—and I can’t quite as easily abduct you with both your uncles knowing you’re supposed to be here.”

She pulled away and smiled at him, wishing she could kiss him but knowing she’d have to wait until October, another two months if she was right. Usually Hogsmeade weekends fell around Halloween.

“I love you,” she whispered as she stroked his cheek lovingly. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

“I guess I’ll just have to catch up then,” he suggested with a cocky grin before he picked her up and twirled her around.

  
… … … … …  
Note: For Hallie and Harry to be born July 31, 1980, they have to be conceived around Halloween, 1979.  
 **  
2019/01/22  
**


End file.
